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By 

ANGUS lyiACKAY 
(Oscar Dhu) 

Author of 

"Donald Morrison — The Canadian Outlaw" 

"A Tale of the Pioneers" 

"Poems of a Politician" 

"Pioneer Sketches" 

Etc., Etc. 



Illustrated 



MACKAY PRINTING & PUBLISHING CO. 

Seattle and Vancouver 

1918 



***** 



Copyright 1918 by 
ANGUS MACKAY 



MAR 27 !3!8 



Dci.A494308 



INTRODUCTION. 

A number of the songs in this collection have 
been heard by campfire and trail from the camps 
of British Columbia to the lumber camps of Maine. 
Several of the songs have been fired at the Huns 
"somewhere in France/' no doubt with deadly 
effect. And also at the Turks on the long long hike 
to Bagdad and beyond. 

And it is not impossible that some of my country- 
men are now warbling snatches of my humble verse 
to the accompaniment of bagpipes on the streets of 
the New Jerusalem! Many of the verses have 
appeared from time to time in leading publications 
from Vancouver, B. C, to the New England States 
and Eastern Canada; while others appear in print 
here for the first time. 

From all parts of the land I have received letters 
at various times asking for extra copies of some 
particular song in my humble collection, which I 
was not in a position to supply at the time. 

I therefore decided to publish some of the songs 
for which a demand had been expressed, and in so 
doing offer to the reading public in extenuation of 
my offense the plea that in a manner this humble 
volume is being published by request. 



I offer no apology for my "dialect" songs as they 
have already received the approval of music lovers 
whose judgment is beyond criticism. 

For the errors which must inevitably creep into 
the work of a non-college-bred lumberjack, I crave 
the indulgence of all highbrows who may resent my 
inability to comb the classics for copy to please 
them. All the merit I can claim is the ability to 
rhyme a limerick or sing a "come-all-ye" in a man- 
ner perhaps not unpleasing to my friends. 

The lumberjacks will understand me, I am sure, 
and will appreciate my humble efforts to entertain 
them. 

As for the genial highbrow, should he deem me 
an interloper in the realm of letters and imagine that 
my wild, uncultured notes are destroying the har- 
mony of his supersensitive soul, I shall "lope" back 
to the tall timber again and seek sympathy and 
appreciation among the lumberjacks of the forest 
primeval, where, amid the wild surroundings and the 
crooning of the trees, there is health for mind and 
body borne on every passing breeze. Yes, there's 
something strangely healing in the magic of the 
myrrh, in the odor of the cedar and the fragrance 
of the fir. 



6 



There the hardy lumberjack is the undisputed 
lord of the lowlands and chief of the highlands, and 
at the present time no soldier in the trenches or 
sailor on the rolling deep has a more arduous task 
to perform or a more important duty to discharge 
than he. 

Toil on, ye Titans of the tall timbers; steadfast 
soldiers of the saw, and able allies of the axe. Carry 
on till the stately trees which constitute the glory of 
the West are converted into ships and planes in 
countless thousands, to win the great war for free- 
dom and to make the world safe for democracy — 
and lumberjacks! 

THE AUTHOR 



ILLUSTRATIONS 
Frontispiece 

"Where the tall, majestic pine tree branches wave" 124 

"Christmas in Quebec" 14 

"Gagne's Cavalry" 52 

"Sergeant-Major Larry" 76 

"I am now one lumberjack" 1 1 

"Another Findlay like your own" 141 



Illustrations by 
Lieutenant William R. JtfcKay 

with 161st U.S.A. in France 



\ CONTENTS 



DESTINY 11 

There's a grand, grand view unfolding. 

THE SONS OF OUR MOTHERS 12 

In the Ramah's of our day. 

CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 15 

I got notice sometam lately. 

THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 22 

It is such a fad at present. 

THE SULTAN AT POTSDAM 27 

Mohammed, Dammed gift of God, 

JOHN LABONNS DREAM 41 

All las* night I was me dreaming, 

THE DERELICT 44 

I will write a short sketch of a free-hearted wretch. 

GAGNE'S CAVALRY 49 

Ma Rosie write to me someting, 

THE GRIPPE 54 

To see us now deceive*-" 

TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 58 

Said Joe, I mus* go w'ere de snow she don* blow, 

THE END OF THE TRAIL 71 

I was summoned in the gloaming, 

HOMESICK 75 

I am tire* now for roam Rosemarie, 

THE GALLANT 53TH 77 

O come all ye loyal volunteers, 



9 



THE FENIAN RAID 82 

From de countrie of de Eagle, 

A LEAP YEAR PARTY 87 

The night before last Hallowe'en, 

THE HOLLERNZOLLERN'S PRAYER 91 

Dear Gott, der weight of "right devine," 

ALASKA BOUNDARY LINE 95 

Now that little Venezuela, 

THE GUARD OF LAFAYETTE 99 

Ma Rosie say to me today, 

THE LUMBERJACK 103 

We have songs on many topics, 

THE BOOK AGENT 107 

The sun rose in beauty, 

JEAN LABONNE 1 1 1 

I am now one lumberjack, 

CANADIANS, GUARD YOUR OWN 113 

"On feet of clay," false prophets say, 

GUARD THE GAELIC 116 

Is it not our bounden right? 

THE AMERICAN EAGLE 120 

Lofty is thy habitation, 

DONALD MacLEOD 123 

The sun hath set and leaves the day, 

OVER THE TOP 127 

A lu3ty lad from Lewis, 

THE ALKALI LAND 130 

I left my old home and my friends in the East, 

A CHRISTMAS DREAM 135 

One Christmas night I sallied forth, 



10 



DESTINY 



There's a grand, grand view unfolding 

And it pictures our future goal: 
There's a strong, strong army moulding 

Our land into one great whole; 
There's a world-wide movement holding 

Firm the lines of our destiny: 
And 'twill never cease 
Till the earth finds peace 

In the arms of Democracy! 




11 



THE SONS OF OUR MOTHERS 

In the Raman's of our day- 
Mothers grieve their hearts away, 
Mourning comfortless as Rachel did of yore; 
Hoping day by day to learn 
Of their absent boy's return 
And to hear his well-known footsteps at the door. 
The lilies are blooming in far-away France — 

Bloom O bloom! 
The cannons are roaring retreat and advance — 

Boom, O boom! 
The hell of their fire is falling like rain, 
And our soldiers before it are falling like grain, 
While the voices of loved ones are calling in vain — 
Home, sweet home! 

Dear Canadians who fell, 
Fighting nobly fighting well, 
May the angels guard thy rest in lonely graves; 
We'll remember "ridge" and "hill" 
And rejoice in knowing, still, 
That the dear old flag you died for rules the waves. 
The wild birds are lilting their lay on the breeze, 

Soft and low: 
As they croon to their nestlings asway in the trees, 

To and fro — 
The young of the robin will flit down the glen 
And return in the spring to the dwellings of men, 
But the sons of our mothers return not again— 
No, ah no! 



12 



THE SONS OF OUR MOTHERS 



And the absent from the fold? 
What of those, the gay, the bold? 
Fighting bravely, dying nobly, to the fore. 
Shall we not avenge the slain? 
Shall our mothers weep in vain? 
Calling, calling for the boys who come no more. 
Dear soldier boys dead in the trenches of war, 

Work well done! 
Your service for country there's nothing can mar, 

Fame well won! 
They fought for the right in a cause that will win — 
They died in a fight that they did not begin — 
And you'll pay the last groat when we enter Berlin, 
Hun, oh Hun! 



13 




Christmas in Quebec. 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC. 



This sketch is truer of the Quebec of last century than 
that of today. I am glad to hear that whisky blanc does 
not "cut the figure" in French festivities now that it did 
twenty years ago; and no one will rejoice more than Oscar 
Dhu to see the demon rum utterly destroyed in Canada ere 
many moons. 

Yes, I sincerely hope that the day will soon dawn when 
the baneful influence of both De Kuyper and de Kaiser will 
be forever banished from my dear native province, queenly 
Quebec! 



I got notice some tarn lately 
Wrote in Yankee dialec', 

Ask me Joe how I spen* Chris* mas 
On de 1 range of Kebec ; 

But ba gosh I don* wrote nottings 
Till de New Year pass along. 

Chris' mas tarn I dance an* fiddle, 
Eat an* drink an* sing some song I 

Yes ma frien* dis ol' man's happy, 
Jus* lak* leetle lamb in May! 

Ev*ry year I grow lak young one, 
Wen it come to Chris* mas day! 

Hip ho-orah! I feel lak dancin*, 
Play for Joe an' kip good tarn, 

I*m mos* happy man in Weedon, 
On his shanty jus* de sam*. 



15 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 

Come Zavier and clear de room off, 
An* one dance to you I'll show, 

Dat I learn on Lampton Corners 
More as t*irty year ago. 

It's call cris-cross two-step, quick step, 
Up an* down de center, too; 

Right an* lef* and swing you* pardner, 
Till de tack fly out her shoe! 

Come 1*11 show you how to do it, 

Tak* de one you love de bes*, 
Den you swing it ro*nd lak swirl wind 
Or dat slyclone in de Wes*. 

Whoop up gee* jus wash ma dances 
An* hole Paul will kip good tarn, 

On dis side de Lac St. Francis 
I can skung dem all de sam*. 

T*ro* dat stool on top de corner, 
Push dat cradle from de room, 

Joe hee*s got dis floor for shak* down 
An* he* 11 swip it lak de broom. 

Jomp up Jacque! and strak dat ceilin* 
Till de dus* fall on you* head — 

Come Lucinda! stop dat squealin' 

Or we'll sen' you off to bed. 

Dis is Chris* mas an* one good one — 
Chris*mas come but once a year; 

Ope dat stove an* t'row some hood on, 
An* we'll have one, two, t'ree cheer! 
16 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 

Rig a gig a gig jus' wash ma moccasin 
An' hole Paul you kip good tarn! 

Pass dat jug aro'nd de grog-is-in, 

An we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram." 

Pass it ro'nd de room ma Rosie 
An* be sure you fill de glass; 

Ma Joe sen' me twenty dollair 

Jus' las' wick from Lowhell, Mass. 

Ev'ry year he sen* me rnonay 

And he sen' some ol' clothes too — - 

But dem duty charge me custom 
Jus' de sam' lak it was new! 

Shoo I dat dance has mak* me tire — 

Rosie pass de pipe of clay — 
Plenty more rat here in Weedon, 

We're Pete Tanguay give it 'way. 

Here's tobac dat's raise in Compton, 
Tak* it too an' pass it ro'nd — 

Plentay more way do'n at Lampton — 
Jus' for twenty cent one po'nd. 

Smoke ma frien' an* tak* it heasy, 
Till de fiddler res' his bow — 

Smudge dis room till it grow hazy, 
Den we'll have one nodder go! 

Rig-a~gig-gig jus' wash ma feet go, 
Put some rnovemen* in dat tune; 

If a man is want for beat Joe — 
Mus' get up before its noon! 
17 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 

Oh ba gosh I de hole mans happy! 

Wish you all feel sam' lak me. 
Canada's de place spen* Chris'mas 

Up at Weedon 'mong de tree! 

I feel bad for Wilfrid Laurier, 
An* for all de beeg Frenchman, 

Who can nevair know henjoymen* 
In dis worl* de sam's I can. 

Troub' is all he gets for breakfas\ 
An* for dinnair too I guess — 

Charlie Tupper's eat for supper — 
An* hee's awful hard diges'I 

Den de nightmare kick lak blazes. 

W'en a leetle sleep dey foun' — 
I can sleep me in dis shanty 

Twice as fas' an* twice as soun\ 

I don* henvey any rich man, 

He can tak* ma house an* Ian*, 

But he can't tak* ma henjoymen* 
Lak de res' w'en hee's deman*. 

Hee's live in one gran' beeg cassil- 
All light up wit' 'letric lamp — 

I am Joseph in dis shanty, 

An* my shanty's in de swamp; 

But ba gosh I'm far more happies 

Den beeg man in house of stone- 
By emby he'll be lak Joseph — 
Six feet land is all he'll own! 



18 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 

Come here Pierre ma tr oat's grow wheezy, 
Pass de glassware roun' for change — 

Wash ma Rosie, ant she daisy? 
She's de bes' cook on de range. 

Ev'ry year w'en it come Chris' mas, 
Rosie geeve me lots to heat — 

Pie an* stoughnut — cake an' cookie — 
Bun an' two t'ree kin* of meat. 

Ev'ryt'ing she's good for cook it, — 
An' de pork she's good for fry, 

She can flip dat bockwheat pancake 
Lak de twinkle of you' eye I 

Yes ba gosh I ma wife hee's good wan, 
Nevair scold me w'en I'm sick: 

An' she raise it twenty young wan 
Nevair learn dat "Yankee trick"! 

Plenty vote to swing de 'lection — 

Twenty-two or twenty-three; 
But I'm ask for no Protection 

For my Infant Industry! 

Dat's de cry I like, "all ready"! 

Sopper's on de tab' at las* — 
Girl an* boy fall in ma hearty — 

Hungry fom de midnight Mass. 

Come Joseph an* bring Louiser, — 

Don* be squeeze her all night long — 

Joe, I know is lak hee*s fadder — 
Jus* de sarn* w*en I was young! 
19 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 

Now I'll pass de jug for luck, me, 
Drink de he* It' of frien' an' foe — 

Plenty more at Dudswell Junction, 
Ma frien' Gauthier tole me so. 

Dis is firs* class liquidation, 

Jus' one glass will pay de tax; 

Two or t'ree will lif de mortgage — 
All de worl' is mine wit' six I 

What's de use for feel downhearted? 

Plenty life in barley juice; 
Dat's w'at mak* dis ol* man happy — 

But some tarn it raise de duce. 

Eat an* drink an' feel contentmen*, 

*Till de holiday pass by; 
Den ol* Joe mus* tackle snow 

An' chop de hood an' hew de tie. 

I got credit from de storekeep — 
Bean an' pork an* pea an* flour, 

An' I promise pay in cordhood — 
An* its tak' me many hour. 

Scoonkin coat I got from Tanguay, 
For to tak* me warm to church, 

An' he tole me pay heem sometam', 

Wen I haul de spruce an* birch. 

Plenty work for Joe in winter — 
Brak de road an* haul de hood, 

But hole Joe hee*s nevair worry — 
Not so long hees he*lt' is good. 
20 



CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 

Dis is holiday at presen\ 

I won't cut me one dem stick 

'Till I have ma Chris' mas hoorah, 
An' it always las* a wick! 

Den I'll say good bye to ol' year 

An' w'en New Year come on deck, 

I'll tole Yankee how ol* Joseph 
Spen' his Chris' mas on Kebec. 

Rig-a-gig-a-gig, jus' wash me moccasin, 
An' ol' Paul will kip good tarn; 

Pass de jug aro'n' de grog is in 

An' we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram, 



21 



"THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE." 

The seeming hostile spirit towards the United States per- 
vading some of the sketches in this volume is more apparent 
than real, as they were introduced in the spirit of fun to 
accentuate the oddities of certain characters, and not to 
disparage our neighbor; for notwithstanding petty quarrels 
and misunderstandings we always loved our great big, bluff 
brother to the South. 

We always maintained that closer relationship with our 
kindred people was our manifest destiny and that noth- 
ing could happen that would keep us permanently apart. 
According to this song, written many years ago, we have 
been "interwooing" and "intermarrying" for a long time. 
We have been flocking to their cities and they have been 
flocking to our farms, and naturally the ties between us 
have been growing stronger with the years. 

Consequently when the present great war engulfed the 
world in a holocaust of blood, kindred cried to kindred and 
the resulting alliance was both natural and logical. 

Time alone can prove the value of the services rendered 
the Allied cause in this great war by British Americans and 
Americanadians residing in the United States. 

The Germans and pro-Germans of this country thot in 
their overweening pride with overbearing Kultur to obtain 
a greater "pull" with Uncle Sam than we possessed. By 
the most cunning propaganda ever known they endeavored 
to widen the breach between brother Jonathan and John 
Bull, but failed miserably. While they "hoched" for the 
"fatherland" till the cows came home, we "coached" for 
the "motherland" till the children came home I 

Kultur may be a powerful persuader but the call of the 
blood is more powerful still, and when the old lion roared 
his appeal the sound went round the world, and the whelps, 
true to their breed, gathered from all corners of the earth, 
not into alien jungles, but home! The fur is now flying and 
blood is flowing, and when the combatants shall have 
emerged from the great conflict the two powerful branches 
of the English-speaking peoples will be bound together in 
ties of friendship stronger than ever before, and by thunder 
they will not be under! 



22 



THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 

or 

HOW CANADA AND THE U. S. 

MAY BECOME ONE. 

It is such a fad at present 

For each poet effervescent, 
To assail the "cross" or "crescent" 

And the "Cleveland message" grim; 
That we pondered for a minute 

Thinking we would not be "in it" 
If we did not aid some Linnet 

With a little of our din. 

Now we're not at' all unwilling 

To receive a course of "drilling" 
If successful in dispelling 

Just a little of the mist 
Which is hanging thickly over 

Our detractor, brother Grover, 
And that rank sedition mover, 

Called the jingo journalist. 

There are men among you moving 

Who're ostensibly peace loving, 
While their conduct's always proving 

The reverse to be their toast; 
They eternally are blowing 

Like a game cock, bent on showing 
By his loud defiant crowing 

That he's there to rule the roost! 



23 



THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 
Tho* you send a warlike "message" 

Do not punctuate its passage 
Crying "cut 'em into sassage, 

Now beware, you crippled cuss": 
All such ravings out of season 

Should be classified as treason, 
Guard your tongues and use your reason 

In considering the 'fuss.* 
If again your mind should rove 

Around the field of Carnage Grover, 
We would have you think it over 

In the light of common sense; 
Ponder well the pain and labor 

It would cause to quell your neighbor; 
And be sure you hide your saber 

'Ere you venture through our fence. 
Why rely on jingo blowing 

If you're bent upon subduing 
Brave Canadians who've been growing 

Since they met Montgomery? 
Drop your systematic hounding, 

And your epithets loud sounding 
For we've pipers here abounding 

Who could blow you out to sea! 
If you saw bold piper Ronald 

Of the warlike Clan Macdonald, 
And the way in which he pommelled 

O'er a hundred of your ranks; 
You would soon be after wishing 

You had always kept a-fishing 

Right at home, instead of swishing 
Warlines over Britain's banks I 
24 



THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 
And it seems to us so very 

Queer that Highlanders who quarry 
Monumental stones at Barre, 

Did not scare away your frowns: 
Had they started with their hammers 

Down among your city bummers, 
It would take you many summers 

To repopulate your towns. 
Yea, at prospects of a battle 

From old Bangor to Seattle 
Each Canadian would skedaddle 

To defend his home and kin; 
And from Picton to Vancouver 

We would welcome each one over; 

Thus united, brother Grover, 

Would you have a chance to win? 

Then relinquish Yankee dodges, 

We would warn you to be cautious; 
Silence rabid Cabot Lodges 

And your jingo journalists. 
Friendship's thread already slender 

Needs a sapient defender — 
As the lion's tail is tender 

From so many ruthless twists! 
We have often heard it stated 

When by jingoists berated, 
That the people here were fated 

To be "taken in by Sam." 
But believe us, brother Grover, 

Coming ages will discover 
That you cannot get us over 

In that manner by a d ! 

25 



THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 
There's another way that's better 

Than coercion and the fetter, 
And we'll tell you in this letter 

How to circumvent the end: 
Cultivate a Better feeling 

For your neighbor in your dealing — 
As you'll never see us kneeling 

For the favors you can lend. 
Let events their course pursuing 

Glide along as they've been doing — 
Let our people interwooing — 

Intermarry — buy and sell; 
Let your friendly salutation, 

Be extended to this nation, 
Let the law of gravitation 

Do the rest — and all is well I 

You have often sold a daughter 

To some dude across the water, 
While the title high(? which bought her 

You so seemingly ignore; 
Why not send us a cotillion 

Of those girls who own a million 
For our hardy northern gillian 

On the old Canadian shore? 
You may think this would not do, but 

We can tell you that your "blue blood" 
Isn't "in it" with the true blood 

Of our bracing Northern clime — 
Better far to take their chances 

With Xavier at Lac St. Francis 
Than to purchase the advances 

Of coin hunters of our time! 

26 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

Enter 
SECOND SONS 



Mohammed Dammed, gift of God! 

The Sultan's second son, 
Enjoys a pilgrimage abroad 

With Eitel Fritz the Hun. 

These second sons, of sons of guns, 
Are sure some friendly foes; 

But to what length their friendship runs 
Jehovah only knows. 

Just now the Sultan, also, dines 
At Williams' kultured kourt, 

And downs the Kaiser's doctored wines 
While Kaiser downs his porte. 

One day young Dammed said to Fritz: 
44 Who started this fool row? 

Whoever did was void of wits, 
As you must know by now." 



27 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

Said Eitel, 'Though I'm from Missour, 

Some say it was my Dad; 
But as they re going to Bag-dad sure, 

He* 11 wish he never had." 

Said Dammed, "If they bag your Dad 
They'll bag my Daddy sure, 

And make him wish he never had 
Come here to seek a cure. 

"Your father promised mine to win 

From Cork to Timbuctoo; 
If we would throw our Turkey in 

Your bloody Pots-dam brew! 

"Besides, he promised on demand 

Star-eyed Parisian pearls! 
Great hunks of Greece, Manhattan and 

A thousand chorus girls! 

"He also swore by every beard 

The prophets ever tore, 
That great Mahomet had appeared 

Before his chamber door. 

"And hurled his mantle — so revered — 
The blooming transom o'er; 

And hence my foolish father feared 
The awful robe he wore!" 



28 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

Fritz gazed upon the rolling Rhine 

With bleary, beery eyes, 
And as he sips his foaming stein, 

To Dammed thus replies: 

4 Thy father was a howling mutt 

Thus to believe my sire; 
For 'scraps of paper' never cut 

Much ice with any liar. 

'That he has promised you too much 

Cannot be well denied; 
For many things will 'beat the Dutch,' 

I find since Hannah died. 

"My dad and 'first born' started out, 

To eat the world in gobs, 
But now they're down to spuds and krout, 

And what the army robs. 

"I have no patience with the bunch 
That failed to win from France, 

The crown prince plainly lacks the punch — 
Why not give me a chance! 

"A million soldiers good and true 
Went down to death for him, 
And chances still of 'breaking thru,' 
Are daily growing slim. 



29 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"I love him not, nor yet his clique, 
Who deem themselves so smart: 

I'd like to serve them all a kick 
Where their Prince Alberts part. 

"To whip the French, they'll have to sail 

Thru blood to gay Paree — 
Here's hoping Poilus will not fail 

To make crown prince of me! 

"For O, I'd love to have a peep 

Into that promised land!" 
Thus saying Eitel fell asleep — 

And snored to beat the band! 

And while Eitel was dreaming, 
Of something or other, 

The son of the Sultan 

Wrote home to his mother. 

"On Linden when the sun was low," 

The Sultan's second wrote. 
These mild impressions of the foe, 

That has his father's goat: 

"Dear ma, according to my pledge, 

I write these lines to thee, 
While sitting on the ragged edge 

In dear old Germany. 



30 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

'Tm at the court of last resort, 

Our royal Ali Bill's: 
And found my father at the port 

Forgetting all his ills. 

"Compared -with livers over here 
Dads health is fairly good, 

And sure, that boy was full of cheer, 
On 'burning deck' that stood. 

Great doctor Kaiser, best of men I 

To cure dad's mal-a-dy; 
Injects his Kultur now and then 

In dad's anatomy. 

''This Kultur is a German germ 

That germinates a juice, 
Which in its turn creates a worm 

That generates the duce! 

"I'm not well up on wormy laws, 
Nor how this Kultur' s spread, 

I only know its use will cause 
A swelling of the head! 

"I think we'll not prolong our stay, 
There are no harems here; 

The women have no time for play, 
The men no time for cheer. 

31 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"They's raising crops, but none to sell, 
As few would want their goods: 

The men are busy raising hell — 
The women raising spuds I 

"The spuds are raising women's sons — 

The sons all fight for Bill, 
And thus it runs that all the Huns 

Are simply raising hell! 

"I heard a 'concert of the Powers' 

One stormy night of late, 
And there, of course, the joy was ours 

To hear the 'Hymn of Hate.' 

"It seems to be the only song 

That all the boches know, 
And slips with ease from every tongue 

Where 'Uber alles' grow. 

"They sang the 'Hymn' with awful vim, 

And turning round our way, 
They looked at me and smiled at 'him,' 

As much as if to say, 

'There's not a Turk can beat that work, 
Twas made in Germany!' — 
"That may be so, but by my dirk, 
I think the Turk will try!' 



32 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"Yea classed with watchdogs of the Rhine, 
And dastard deeds they've done, 

Our dad, I swear, doth really shine 
A saintly paragon! 

"He felt ashamed that any race, 

Of earth or Hell below, 
Could so outshine him to his face — 

In hatred of a foe! 



"I pity the Armenian 

When dad gets back to work again; 
For he has tortures now in store 

Eclipsing all he knew before!" 

Enter the Clown Prince. 

"The next upon the program was 

The Kaiser's eldest son, 
Who sang to thunders of apeplause 

*Der land vare ve ver-dun* I 

"And as his tears on Brussels flow, 

His voice pathetic grew, 
While singing solemnly and low 

'I see my Waterloo! 

Tm sick and sore and sorry and 
I'm licked and lonely, too: 
Vile odders see der Vaterland 

I see mine "Vaterloo" ! Boo-hoof 



33 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"Dear mother it was sad I claim 

To hear him blubber so; 
The blooming boob is not to blame 

For what he doesn't know. 

"From infancy they taught the kid 

To bank on 'right's divine* ; 
And that no matter what he did 

The Lord was with his 'Line.' 

"And so, when shot and shell and trench, 

And 'Me und Gott' und Co. 
Had failed to crush the hated French, 

It queered his status quo! 

"But Kaiser Bill was on the job, 

And said "it's getting late;" 
We'll dry the tear and swab the sob 

And sing the 'Hymn of Hate.* 

And so they sang the 'hymn' again 

To stimulate the prince: 
And encored with that sad refrain 
'The days of auld lang since.' 

"Then Kaiser rising with a spring 

Said, Gentlemen a-hem — 
Our friend, the Sultan, now will sing 

The "New Jerusalem"! 



34 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

M 'And after that, excuse the joke, 
He* 11 sing that song of caste, 

The * 'Turkey in the Straw, that broke 
The Camel's back at last." 

"The Kaiser's kounsel knocked the spots 

Off father's self command, 
For he had such unholy thots, 

Anent the Holy Land. 

"But he was game as old McBeth, 

Resolved to do or die; 
The odor of his very breath 

Was 'comin* thru the rye' : 

1 'My breath is hot enough to stew, 

My blood is hot within 
From being chased like Moses thru 

The "Wilderness of Sin." 

'They're chasing me across the sand— 
Don't mention Waterloo! — 
From Dan unto Beersheba and 
A little further, too. 

'The sand is hot along the trail, 
Jersualem how hot — ! 
And as I hear those bagpipes wail, 
I murmur, Oh great Scot I 



35 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

M 'Behind each chanter blows a Gael, 
Loud, strong and piping hot; 

And those en-chanters never fail 
To make me, Turkey, trot! 

"And woe betide deluded ones 

Who meet this kilted race, 
And deem the grim denuded ones 

But females out of place! 

"Engage them in a bayonet charge 
And dupes will quickly find, 

Those skirts are worn to camouflage 
The dynamite behind! 

"O demons of the fighting line, 

Whose limits are the earth; 
The empire great in which you shine 

Doth bless thy place of birth. 

"Ubiquitous, pugnacious Scot, 
You've nobly done your share; 

For, ever where the fighting's hot, 
The Tartan flutters there! 

"Yea Turkey Trot and Tanko tune! 

Those dances are the style, 
We hop to their compelling rune 

From Baltic to the Nile/ 



36 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"The Kaiser didn't quite approve 
The course the Sultan chose, 

And deemed it time that he should move 
The Turkish mouth to close. 

'He's taken too much Scotch in tow 
Their praises thus to sing: 
The next we know he'll queer the show 
And dance the Highland Fling!' 

"And as they led the Turk to bed, 

He said the deal was raw — 
Yes raw and red, *prpe up,* he said 

With 'Turkey in the Straw!' 

"Here Sheik-UMslam bang arose 

And cried it wasn't fair, 
To stem the golden flood that flows 

From Allah's chosen heir. 

'Mine is the will,' said Kaiser Bill, 
'That rules the world today; 
No kings or khans or Gods or clans 
Can these my words gainsay.' 

"And then to prove that he was king 

And Ruler over all, 
He ordered Hindenberg to sing! 

Or rather lead the bawl. 



37 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"Then Hindenburg mid many raus 

Essayed a clever line; 
The song he sang with fervor was, 

'Fair Byng-in on the Rhine.' 

"The song a sad one in its day, 
Brought some to verge of tears: 

But when they heard Von Hinden bray 
The place was near all jeers! 

'You're off your line,* the singers laugh, 
Von Hindenburg said 'Nay, 
I'm only wobbling on the staff, 
My bass is weak today.* 

'Your vocal chords are out of joint, 
Your lines are running wrong, 
Therefore' I think I will appoint 
Myself to sing a song.* 

"So saying, Kaiser Bill arose 
And clearing out his throat, 

Assumed that well known lordly pose! 
And sang without a note. 

"The music with me still abides, 

My ears with discord ring: 
Dear mother you would split your sides, 

To hear the Kaiser sing. 



38 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

"O, why the agony prolong? 

This was the burden of his song: 

M 'On der shore of Italy 

Mine Spag-etta vaits for me, 

I am longing so for thee 

Mine dear Venus by der sea. 

'Und anodder maiden fair, 
She vos vaiting 'over there,* 

Und 1*11 take mine supmarine, 

Und mine super-air-machine, 

Und 'Columbia der Chem of der Ocean* 

Vill soon be mine own Kaiserinel' 

Here Eitel woke and poked my ribs, 

And whispered in my ear, 
"The words to suit his royal nibs 

Would thusly run, I fear." 

"Fair Saint Helena is the maid, 
That calls thee to her side — 

She is lonely, I'm afraid, 

Since her former war-lord died!" 



39 



THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT 

*Twas at this point a warning dire 
Came Hertling thru the hall, 

And danced in words of lurid fire 
Upon the gilded wall. 

And "Mene, Mene," once again 

A tyrant's eyes behold, 
The writing on the wall was plain 

As in the days of old. 

And gazing on that fiery scroll 

The guilty Kaiser quakes — 
May God have mercy on his soul 

When Germany awakes! 



40 



JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM 

Or 

A SAD AWAKENING 

A Song of the Trenches 



All las' night I was me dreamin', 

Dreamin* where de cannon's roar, 
An* my spirit, so it's seemin', 

Wend its flight to home once more. 
Dare I heard de church bells ringin* 

An' de robin red breas' singin*, 
Back to me de tarn was bringin* 

Wen I part wit* Rosemarie. 

Rosemarie! De bells are ringin', oh how sweet de 

melodie! 
Rosemarie! De robin's singin', an' its always callin* 

me! 



41 



JOHN LABONN'S DREAM 

It was springtam an* all nature 

Seem to join de robin's song, 
All de sheep an' cattle feel it, 

For de winter was so long. 
O, it was one joyful meetin*, 

Ev'ry creature give me greetin', 
An' ma heart tattoo was beatin' 

Wen 1 t'ink of Rosemarie. 

Rosemarie, ma heart is beatin', O how sweet dat 

pain can be! 
Rosemarie, it kips repeatin', an' each beat is true 

to thee. 

Springtam creep along de meadow, 

Springtam whisper on de hill; 
Were de sunshine chase de shadow 

Ro'nd ma home at St. Camille. 
Dare it stood, ma well known dwellin', 

Dat I love beyond de tellin', 
And ma heart in me was swellin' 

Wen I see ma Rosemarie. 

Rosemarie, my heart is swellin', and it's all for 

love of thee! 
Rosemarie, it kips on tellin' dat you're all de worl' 

to me! 



42 



JOHN LABONN'S DREAM 

Joyfully she come to meet me, 

Wit* de love light in her eye; 
Smilin* tru' de tears she greet me — 

Nevaire more to say good bye. 
Wen I see dem tear drop fallin\ 

Jus' lak dew of early mornin\ 
Hangel voices seem lak callin, 

Callin* Joe to Rosemarie! 

Rosemarie, de angels* callin*, O how sweet dat 

soun' to me! 
Rosemarie, you* tear drops fallin' coax ma heart 

across de sea! 

Paradise den open to me, 

As she whisper, '* Welcome home." 
To my arms her form I drew me — 

Den, Sapre! I wake, an* boom! 
Roar of gun for church-bell ringin', 

Howl of Hun for robins* singin* — 
Loving arms no more are clingin* : 

War is hell, sweet Rosemarie! 

Chorus 
Rosemarie, de bells are ringin, 

O, how sweet dat melodie! 
Rosemarie! de robins* singin* 

An' its always callin* me! 



43 



THE DERELICT 

(When Seattle Was Wide Open.) 



I will write a short sketch 

Of that free hearted wretch 

Whom all fakirs delight to espy. 

He is seen every day 

Just below Yesler Way, 

Either "full" or distressingly "dry". 

He alights from the train, 

Or a boat from the main, 

With intentions both honest and clear. 

But the weak-minded wight, 

Led astray before night, 

Is filled full of doped whiskey and beer. 

How alluring and bright 

Is each glittering light, 

As he joyfully watches the throng; 

And his spirits are gay 

As a bird's are in May, 

And as gayly conducive to song. 

How seductive the speech 

In which siren's beseech 

Him to share the delights of their spree. 

Ev'ry man in the set 

Is "hail fellow well met", 

And each woman delightfully free! 

44 



THE DERELICT 

There's a wink from the "traps", 

And a meal with the Japs, 

And a shuffle of cards as they go. 

There's a trip to the play, 

A few "smiles" by the way, 

And a box by themselves at the show. 

O how slyly they wink 

As they sip at their drink, 

And maliciously help him to his; 

And he drinks it, alas! 

'Though the foam on the glass 

Floats around with a death-dealing fizz. 

Thus the night passes by 

Till the victimized "guy" 

Is sufficiently "doped" to "go through"; 

And the stupefied lout, 

When he's finally out, 

Will possess but a nickel or two. 

Wholly drunk, and half blind, 

With confusion of mind, 

And to rum-selling vultures a prey, 

He is found at the "Mug" — 

Takes a ride to the jug, 

And there slumbers his potions away. 



45 



THE DERELICT 

Coming out the next morn, 

Sober, sick and forlorn, 

To a world that has quickly grown cold! 

A poor outcast he roams 

While in sumptuous homes 

Whilom friends(?) are enjoying his gold, 

Where is now the glib friend 

Of his bounty to lend 

The poor devil the price of a plate? 

He has vanished like mist 

Of the morning, sun-kissed — 

And the victim is left to his fate. 

Not a wink from a lass, 

Nor a clink from a glass, 

With "your health", as it's borne to the 

lips; 
Not a sign from a trap, 
Not a bite from a Jap — 
All his sunshine has suffered eclipse! 

Not a kindly "invite" 

From the friends of the night, 

To "step in and have something on me." 

Not a drop from the fakes 

Just to steady the shakes, 

And to "knock" the effects of the spree. 



46 



THE DERELICT 

As he wanders the street 

Not one friend does he meet, 

Not a soul that will greet him today; 

* 'Broke' ' and hungry — alone, 

With a heartrending moan, 

He must totter along to the bay. 

O, the groans which now surge 

With the tones of a dirge 

From that soul so late given to song, 

And how scenes long since fled 

Like a wail from the dead, 

Rise to hasten his footsteps along. 

Yea, dim memories rush 

To his mind, and a flush 

Of deep shame drives all pallor away, 

As he thinks of the East 

And the home he has lost 

By the life that leads on to the bay. 

"Robbed and wronged all around," 
Is the sob of the sound, 
But no mortal comes forward to save; 
So with mutterings of wrath 
He goes down to his death 
Through the green, clammy depths of 
the waves. 



47 



THE DERELICT 

Hark the tones of despair 
Which arise on the air 
From the shades of the low moaning bay; 
They will float through the years 
And encircle the spheres, 
And be heard at the great Judgment 
Day. 

Soon a poor, bloated form, 

Tossed about by the storm, 

Floating 'round on the crest of each wave, 

With seaweed for a shroud, 

Is beheld by the crowd, 

And a failure is borne to his grave. 

'Tis a jump from the train 

And a trip up on * Main, 

And a sip with a friend (?) on the way. 

Just a step to the "Mug", 

And a ride to the "jug" — 

Then a leap to his death in the bay. 

But the Lord from his seat 
Looketh down on each street, 
Where sueh hell-born inventions are on, 
And with infinite wrath 
He will sweep on their path — 
And they'll reap on that day what they've 
sown. 
* Main Street, Seattle. 

48 



GAGNE'S CAVALRY 

or 
THE CANADIAN HABITANTS' ANSWER 

to 
THE FAMOUS "CLEVELAND MESSAGE." 



My Rosie read to me somet'ing, 

In pepper week ago. 
She say, "De States he want to fight 

On Canada and Joe; 
An* dat de Yankee Presidon, 

He write to Johnnie Bull, 
An' tole him kip his nose at home, 

Or it would get one pull." 

An* two three Yankee Senator, 

He mak* one Yankee speech, 
An' t*ink dat all de Canaya 

Will tremble in his breech — 
He say to Honcle Sam, "Go up, 

An* lick de hole dem crew — 
Go, tak* Quebec an* Hottawa, 

An* Lac Megantic too." 

I jomp on top ma moccasin, 

An* dance aroun' de floor; 
I grine ma teet*, I pull ma hair, 

An' den I jomp some more; 
I say, "hurrah for Canada!*" 

So loud as I can't yell, 
Till Rosie say, "Ba gosh, hole man! 

You're crazy I can tell." 

49 



GAGNE'S CAVALRY 

**Oh I'm not crazy, Rosie, 

I am only patriot — 
Dat mean a man who never want 

His country go to pot — 
Yes, I'm 'hole man,' but don't you fret, 

I'm not yet invalid, 
I'm good for fight on any war 

As ten men when she's dead. 

I can't fight? Me? Ba gosh you hask 

Ma honcle Polyeaux; 
He used to fight lak' tiger 

On de war of Papineau; 
You know I'm just the sam' lak* him, 

I'll do what he can done; 
An' 1 can fight lak' tiger, too, 

Dat Yankee son-of-gun." 

Ma Rosie say: "You crack hole man, 

Such torn fool speech to mak', 
I t'ink you are most crazy man 

Dat live on top de lac — 
Your boy is in de State, you know, 

An' work in Yankee mill, 
An' w'at you do he lose his job, 

His bread an' greenback bill?" 

"Baa, you mak' mistak', dear Rosie, 

If you t'ink we starve to dead; 
If we can't get de Yankee work, 

His brown bean an* his bread, 
Grease pie, hot doughnut — biscuit, 

Is good t'ing for mak' a dude; 
But we got somet'ing better here 

Den Yankee 'speptic food." 



50 



GAGNE'S CAVALRY 

Chorus: 
Ma peasoup am bully, boys, 

An* buckwheat is good, 
You nevair get one better t'ing 

To work upon de hood; 
Wen it get hold de handle axe, 

It mak* de chip to fly 
Tick as snowflak* in de winter, 

Or mosquito on July. 

Paul will come from Manchester, 

An* Xavier from Lowhell; 
Joe will come from River Fall, 

Immediate — pell mell ; 
An* every mill of Honcle Sam 

Will have to close de loom, 
Wen all our boys aroun* de State 

Will come to fight at home. 

O by de jomp up hooricane! 

If Yankee don't stop brag; 
She'll fin' more star on top his head, 

Den he got top his flag; 
She'll fin* one tiger on his track, 

Wit' blood-shot on his eye, 
And ev'ry Yank dat cross de line 

For fight, is sure to die. 



51 



GAGNE'S CAVALRY 

De Lac Megantic m'litia man 

Is sure to tak de lead, 
You bet your life w'en he get rouse 

Someboda got to bleed! 

An' w'en from Lac St. Francis 
Come de Greenland Grenadier 

He'll male* all Yankee man he meet 
Go home de top his bier. 

De Horseman from La Patrie too, 

Will come an join de fray, 
An* blow his tin horn bugle, 

On de top Canada gray; 
De Voltigeurs from Weedon, 

An* de Lampton Light Brigade, 
Will come an' show to Jameson 

De way to mak a raid. 

O' we can fight dat Yankee man 

As f adders fought before! 
On battle of Chateaugay, 

W'en five Frenchman kill a score! 
De Hinglish, Scotch, an' Hirish, too, 

Will join us, don't you fear — 
Dere's notting top dis earth can lick 

Canadian Volunteer ! 

An* for one more good leader man, 

We'll send for Louis Cyr, 
An' he'll tak' charge de Chesham Corps 

An' Ditton Fusileer; 
De Hinfantry from Emberton 

Will join de Yankee hunt, 
And Peter Gagne's Cavalry 

Will gallop on de front! 
53 



THE GRIPPE 

To see us now, deceivers 
Would say this land of beavers 
Was full of fitful fevers 

And other chills. 
On all the passing breezes 
There's nothing heard but wheezes, 
With hacking coughs and sneezes, 

And other ills. 

The bear, that northern prowler, 
The 'Oonalaska howler, 
And every other growler 

We read about, 
With us have caught the churning 
Whose cause is past discerning, 
The demon that is turning 

Us inside out. 

The monster's exultation 

Is heard throughout the nation, 

He stops at every station 

To spread himself ; 
And no one can avoid him, 
'Tis useless to deride him, 
Impossible to hide him 

Upon a shelf. 



54 



THE GRIPPE 

Whence come those sudden changes, 
With all their train of twinges, 
Grim foes of health that hinges 

On atmosphere? 
There surely is a reason 
For this fantastic season, 
That sets the world a sneezin* 

About us here. 

This * "rushing" influenza, 
Just taken for a mensa, 
Most certainly will cleanse a' 

Your system, man. 
It has the knack to stick, too — 
'Twould surely turn "Old Nick*' blue 
And draw his toenails quick through 

His diaphragm. 

No power can avail, man, 

To drive him from the trail, man; 

The patent drugs for sale man, 

Can never cure. 
He comes against your will, man, 
And sneaks around to kill, man; 
The rippling of his rill, man, 

Is never pure. 



55 



THE GRIPPE 

It droppeth like the rain, man, 
Extracted by the pain, man, 
And driveth one insane, man, 

To think of it. 
It robs us of our food, man, 
And freezes up our blood, man — 
And sleep ! Nary a nod, man, 

Or wink of it. 

The old world it's been tearing — 
Now we must have a hearing; 
It crossed the strait of Behring — 

Yes, bound to win. 
Ah ! now it overtakes me, 
The shivering that shakes me 
Is one that surely makes the 

Whole world akin. 

Across from coast to coast, sir, 
You wander like a ghost, sir; 
Every one can boast(?), sir, 

Of having you. 
You strike at high and lowly, 
The wicked and the holy, 
The poor, and they who roll thee, 

Fifth avenue! 



56 



THE GRIPPE 

No doubt our friend bold "Fairman", 

And also John his chairman, 

Are pulling out their hair ( ? ) , man, 

And looking wild. 
If influenza has them, 
My writing will not please them; 
So, Oscar, pray don't tease them 

Or get them riled. 

Gu'tchew! gu'tchew! gu'tchew! man; 
"Good day, mar ha u diugh, man; 
*Sda chuin *neanaib na shruth, man, 

Le-uiske beatha." 
That's what I hear around me 
Wherever Celtic sound be, 
And also, O confound thee, 
America! 
* Water spring. 



37 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

Joe 

Said Joe, **I mus' go w'ere de win' she don* blow 
For six mont' in de year, wit* its mout' full of 

snow: 
Were t'ermom* at de door don* sink down to de 

floor, 
Yes, to 40 degree below razo, or so. 

"W'ere de breeze mak* you sneeze, an* de pump- 
handle freeze, 
An* de snow she is go up above to you' knees, 
Is no place for me Joe, so I'm t'ink I will go 
Lak de Hun to de sun, wit* ma wife an' Louise. 

"I got pos* car* today from Eugene, an' he say 
To sell out on de farm, an* go down rat away 
To Lowhell on de mill w'ere I earn de green bill, 
An* de Merri-mac sing, tra la ling, all de day." 

Marie 
But Marie said, "Oui, I am not jus' agree 
Wit' de plan dat you han' for dat gran' beeg 

movie ; 
If you start for de State jus' be sure not be late: 
I will stay rat at home till you come, don' you see? 



58 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"So skedad," she is yell, "an go down to Lowhell, 
Were de snow she don' blow and no ice clog de 

well! 
I will freeze if I please, or go sout' wit* de geese, 
An* live 'long wit* ma niece in *at ol* Lennoxvell." 

Joe 

"Yes, ma dear, I can hear, if you don* spik so 

clear, 
An* break in lak a bomb on de drom of ma ear; 
You may fly wit' you' niece an* go live wit' de 

geese, 
If you promise to write in you* flight once a year. 

"She is give me one glance an' at once I can see 
It's more safer in France den at Lamp ton for me; 
In her face it is war an* I notice, by gar, 
It's more cold in her eye den de 60 degree! 

"An* Marie, is she froit? Not to notice it yet! 
For she scream till she steam an' she steam till 

she's wet; 
An' I notice once more as she stamp on de floor: 
She is build on de line of de fin' suffragette! 

"Ah! So cold lak de pump, or de frost on de 
stump, 



59 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

An* her beautiful back is rise up in de hump; 
Quick I mak' up my min' w'en I look on dat sign, 
It is jus' *bout de tarn for me Joe mak' a jompl 

"In de quarr'l of a fam' don* it sure beat de ban* 
How de neighbors butt in, jus* lak one of de 

clan — 
If ol* Liz* an* her phiz would kip out of my biz\ 
It is sure not be half de divorce in de Ian*. 

"Did I jomp? Well, I*m not geeve it secrets away 
Dat's between man an' wife an' de pump any day, 
But Marie w*en she's woun', tak's some tarn to 

run down, 
An* before she collapse she me raps in dis way:'* 

Marie 

"I am born for to toil, I am tie to de soil, 
An' you t'ink it's enough if for once in a while 
I can ride to Shalbrooke, wit' cheval dat you took 
From de crows in de spring, jus' to show it my 
style! 

"Lak de queen I am feel wit' no grease on de 

wheel, 
An' t'ree pigs in a box nottings lef but de squeal I 
Wit' his snout stick it out through de slat lake a 

spout — 
An* his body come too but got knot on de tail I 

60 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"An* I know I am show lak de scare of de crow, 
Wen down Wellington street to de market we go; 
An' garson in bare feet — all de blaggard I meet 
Mak' me squirm lak de worm from ma head to de 
toe. 

"O ge whizz I am proud w'en we come on de 

crowd, 

An* damfool out of school, he is laugh it out loud; 

But de glory to God w'en I t'ink of de load 

An* de boneyard dat carry it over de road, 

An* de squeak of de gig, and de squeal of de pig, 

I don* blame it for laugh w'en he look at de rig! 

t 

'Ha! ha!' he is cry, 'hope to die, how you feel? 
Ain't it tarn to give pig in dat box some more 

meal? 
You' horse it's too fat lak de edge of de slat; 
Not *nuff grease in de pig for to put on de wheel! 
Wat you tak' it in cash for you' automosqueal ? ' 
"Dat's de cry dat I hear on de top of ma ear 
Wen Marie, dat is me, an' her chariot appear. 
An* as sure I'm rebel as you* name is Trudel 
If it's not some improvement in movement nex 

year." 

Joe 
"O, I know very well, ma cheval is poor breed, 
But for trav' lak de dev' he is very fine steed; 
It is true he is slim, but jus' look at his limb — 
He is build lak de fly-machine — all for de speed! 

61 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"Yes, Marie, I agree dat ma rig is look tough, 

So 1*11 spik it to Ingram, or else to Ren Clough: 

I will horder cheval of de bes* in his stall, 

An* nex' trip you'll be queen of de May, sure 

enough." 

Marie 

"You* sarcast' is not ask it is soun' lak de clown, 

If you see you'se'f once as you look to de town 
You would pull in you' horn jus* as sure you are 

born, 

For you haven't got sense enough sure to go roun*. 

"Yes, sir, ma dear Joe, you don't seem for to 

know, 
On las* trip to de town you was mos' of de show: 
Wit' t'ree quart whiskey blanc dat you pour down 

you* craw — 
O you bet you forget all *bout 60 below! 

"In Shalbrook on each trip you complain of de 

grippe, 
Dr. Bum is soon come wit' a "nip" on de h?p: 
You get sick very quick jus' before de physic, 
But de cure is work sure after tak* de firs' nip. 



62 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"Las' tarn you was in you begin de oY trick, 

An* you* frien' soon atten' to tak' charge of de 

sick; 
Soon you smug' a beeg jug to de stall of you* 

plug — 
But Marie* dat is me, an* cheval mak* a kick. 

"O dat 2 -gallon stein of de jolly high wine, 
In de provender mix, mak* a bully combine! 
If it's good for a fool sure it's good for de mule, 
An' dat is as true as twice four it is nine. ; 

"I am t*ink if you drink till you* loaded for wreck, 
I will geeve de ol* nag de sam' jag on de deck; 
So I pour a few peck of de stuff down his neck 
An* start in to smash record for trot in Kebec. 

4 Yes, I mix it de stuff, jus' de full of beeg pail — 
Will he eat it or drink it? It's puzzle to tell: 
But he gobble an' gobbed an* he slobber and 

slobbed 
Until nottings was lef* of de stuff but de smell! 

"Bam by it was sly in de eye dat was dull, 
An* he sneeze an* he wheeze an' de halter he pull; 
Pretty soon he is grow to ac' jus' lak ma Joe — 
Yes a man an' cheval is de sam* w'en its full! 



63 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"Come hop on de wagon, it's ready for flight; 
Load is leaving for Lampton, ol* Joseph sit tight 
Whoa, Boneyparte, whoa! An' Calamity Joe! 
Kip still till you bid (hie) oF Shalbrooke good 
night. 

"An* de soun' of his feet as he dance on de street, 
Seem to me lak de play of de drum w'en she's 

beat; 
An' he rattle his bones on de pavement of stones 
Till it mak* me feel sure I am winning de heat! 

"Wen we pass it pell mell thru' on ol* Lennoxvell, 
Peop' is t'ink dat de college is practice hees yell; 
I am know it's disgrace on such educate place — 
But it mak* leetle differ to Joseph Trudel. 

"For, more loud as before he is roar on de spot, 
Boneyparte is respon' an fly on lak de shot — 
Frank Bogash is stan' still on de top of Sand Hill, 
An' say, 'glory to God, he can beat me for trot!' 

"An' his tail in de win' is fly up wit' out bend, 
Jus' as straight lak de pole dat de trolley car send. 
Yes, it stick up behin' lak de mos* of its kin', 
An' I'm t'ink dat de spark is fly out at de end! 



64 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"He is wheeze on de breeze till I'm 'fraid he will 

bus', 
An' ma Joe, de ol* fou, is yell 'Go it, you cussf 
Jus' as soon as he yell Boney do as he tell, 
An' de city of Cookshire we leave in de dus\ 

"It's rat here I got scare, an' declare to him 'Hi! 
Can't you steady you nerves an' come down from 

de sky?' 
But I fin* it's no use, for de dev* is seem loose, 
An' de more as I coax it de louder he cry! 

"On de top of de slope w'ere dey bury de Pope 
I say, 'Joe, you go slow through dis precinct I 

hope.' 
But he yell for protection — 'Hoorah for 'lection, 
Free trade will be hang if it get some more rope I' 

"An* I know rat away dat de dev' is to pay, 
Wen he cry to de sky in dat blood curdle way 
For John Henry arose, to meet irien' or de foes — 
An' said, 'Ladies an* gentlemen, where's Laurier?* 

"O, de stones on de graves is look white lak de 

sheep, 
An* de fear of ma scare mak' de hair on me 

creep 



65 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

Wen he lif up his head, look aro'nd him an' said, 
There ain't no thin' to it,* an' went back for more 
sleep ! 

"Bam by I am get over de mos' of ma fright; 

I don* look to de lef, I don' look to de right. 

But kip rat straight ahead for more place or de 

dead — 
For ma pals stop for nottings but spirits tonight. 

4 *An' de rat de tat tat of his iron shoe hoof 
Soun* lak hail in de gale dat is fall on de roof; 
An' de stone dat is pass, an' de dus' in ma face, 
Of de speed Boney mak' is one jolly good proof. 

"An* at Bury, I guess, Joe is want me to res' 
An' put down at de tavern of Peter Gilless; 
But I tole to him plain he was on de wrong train — 
No way station stop for de lightning hexpress! 

"Whoa! Boneyparte, whoa! Wat's de matter wit* 

you? 
an't you jus for one minute go little bit slow? 
But he don't seem to min' any more as de win*, 
An' pass out through de swamp w'ere de dam- 
beaver grow. 



66 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"Wen de Meadows we reach, lak de dev' he was 

hump, 
An* oF Chimney de Hill he was climb in t'ree jump; 

All de Scotch on de road say 'de glory to God, 
It mus' sure be de ghost of oF 'Caillach de fumpl* 

"At each place of de dead, I say 'Joe, prinnes 

garde, 
You kip still on dis hill, an* don* yellen so hard.* 
But ma Joseph of course, jus* as crack as de horse 
Kip on yell to beat tell w'en he see de graveyard! 

"At one place as we pass, I t'ink down de Black 

Eye, 
Sleep some dear pioneer — 80 year since dey die: 
Here oF Joe yell so loud for de clans in de shroud 
Some is jomp up to see w'at de dev* is pass by! 

"An* jus* leettle way down, Boney stop in his 

track, 

An* he spy, an* he shy, an* he try to turn back; 

But Joe hit him a clip on de hip wit' de whip, 

An* somebodda in Scotch is yell 'Frangach a cack.' 

. ; 
"But Boney don' need it de crack of de switch, 

As he jomp through de stomp on de top of de 

ditch, 
Yellin' 'Caillach a rad cross! I am los', I am losT 
An* was chase in de race by de wil' Lingwick 

witch! 

67 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

*'0 de glory to Gordon! her look mak* me chill, 
As we shoot over reevers lak wisp-o' -de-will; 
An* den down to de mill, an' up over de hill, 
Were de capitol Gould ro'nd de scales is stan* 
still. 

"But not so de chariot dat's passin', you bet: 
Too much hurry to talk to de peop' dat we met— - 
It's no stop-over right on Joe's ticket tonight — 
He is head on for Lampton an' don' you forget! 

M Yes, ol* caillach de crossing is scare Joseph blind. 
An* I'm t'ink for a while it will help it — his 

mind — 
O you bet he was 'fraid of dat sweet highland 

maid 
Who was squeal lak de deil on our heel jut* 

behind I 

"We was gallop through Galson, till Tolsta ap- 
proach, 

Near de line dat's dividing de French from de 
Scotch ; 

Here ol' hag of de fright, scream to Joseph 'Good 
night I 

On de witches of Winslow I rnus* not encroach V 



68 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

"Wen Joe lose it de vision he's courage come 

back 
An' he ask w'at she mean by de 'Frangach is 

crack* ; 
Wen I tole him he cry 'Dam Scotch haggis good 

bye! 
De nex* tarn dat I trav* I will kip from you track!' 

M 'Who is said I was *fraid of de sick or de well? 
I am not a bit scare of twin devils from Dell; 
Not one man of my day, but de beeg George Mac- 

Rae 
Can lick one of de sides of me, Joseph Trudellf 

"Dat*s de way dat you rave, an' behave, an* you 

boast 
On de night dat cheval an* his pal see de ghost: 
An' de tremens was goad you so much on de road 
I am wonder de load ever get to dis post. 

"O, it's joy, for a wife, in dis worl' of de strife, 
To be shame of de game till it stab lak de knife; 
An' de peop' are all tell *Dat*s de mate of Trudel, 
Who is travel lak hell on de jo'rney of life. 

"Dat's why you are cry, an' you* heart feel it 

sore, 
An* you ask me to roam from ma home evermore. 
Jus* you geeve up one t*ing, an* de birds it will 

sing, 

69 



TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 

An* de sonshine will cling w'ere it's shadow be- 
fore! 

"O dat man is de bes' who will cling to his nes* 
W'ere he's born an' he's raise an' he's work an* 

he's res' ; 
If he don* mak' success rat at home, I confess, 
Den it's slim hope for him in de Sout* or de Wes\ 

"An' dear Joe, don' you know we have got no 

hexcuse 
For de way we off en*, an' descen' to abuse? 
Me you cannot deceive, for I know you are grieve 
Jus' as much as Marie for de dear ones we lose. 

"An' de pain is mos' kill, an' it's nevair kip still, 
Since dey bury ma Mary an' boy on de hill; 
Wen you ask it I fin* dat I can*t leave behin* 
Lonely grave of ma darlings, Marie and boy Bill. 

"An* I'm feel it is true, half of me's bury too, 
Since was lay in de clay leettle body from view! 
So you do w'at you lak, I will try for to mak' 
Jus' de bes* of de bargain, I promise to you. 

"But I tole to you, Joe, if you t'ink I mus* go, 
It is only half womans be wit' you I know; 
For de res* of me stay w'ere de leettle ones lay — 
In de summer an* flower, in winter an* snow! 



70 



THE END OF THE TRAIL 

I was summoned in the gloaming to the bedside of 

a friend 
Who was passing through the shadows ever lurk- 
ing at the end: 
To the bedside of a comrade I had known long, 

Jong ago 
Back in dear old Compton County, where the sugar 

maples grow. 
Just a simple son of Lewis, careless, fearless, poor 

and proud, 
As becomes a Highland Scotsman of the royal clan 

MacLeod. 
He could sing the songs of loveland, as I've seldom 

heard them sung — 
Richest treasures of the Highlands flowed in music 

from his tongue. 
What a privilege and pleasure to have heard him 

in his prime, 
Ere his mellow notes were burdened by the cruel 

strains of time. 
When the gentle nurse had brought me to the 

couch of poor old John 
E'en a novice would not question that his race was 

nearly run. 
He was lonely in the city, longing for the spruce 

and pine, 
And his eyes grew bright with pleasure as he 

placed his hand in mine, 



71 



THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Saying: "Don't forget me, Angus, but come out to 

see me here, 
For the nights are long and lonely, and the days 

devoid of cheer. 
Yes, I know my days are numbered, all the signs 

to me are plain: 
I shall never guide the movements of the skid road 

boys again. 
There's a secret I would tell you that I've never 

told before, 
It was locked up in my bosom fifty years ago or 

more: 
It's of Mary, gentle Mary, whom I loved in years 

agone — 
Loved her then and will forever, and my Mary 

loved her John! 
But there came another wooer, who was rich as I 

was poor, 
And her parents looked with favor on this keeper 

of a store. 
I was wounded, yes, and angry, that their greed 

should thus deny 
Me the place they held for riches, so I bade them 

all good bye, 
And I left my Mary weeping, though she begged 

of me to stay — 
Left her weeping — to my sorrow — and I westward 

took my way. 
Then I drifted hither, thither, like the flotsam of 

the sea: 

72 



THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Every year a little farther from my home in Tal- 

labharee, 
Till at last I came to anchor on the shores of Puget 

Sound, 
Where so many of my comrades in misfortune may 

be found/* 
Here his speech grew slow and halting, as he said, 

amid his groans, 
He had feared for what might happen to his "poor 

old aching bones.** 
"Do not let them sink my body where the dere- 
licts are thrown, 
For although I*m poor in pocket, pride was bred 

within my bone. 
When my limbs refuse their burden and I cannot 

further go, 
And the trail is dark and tangled where the fir 

and cedars grow; 
When the cord of life is severed and in death I'm 

lying low, 
And there's nothing left but tallabh of the John 

you used to know: 
Lay me down amid the shadows of the forest that 

I love, 
With the grey green moss around me and the skies 

of God above; 
Where no noises will disturb me save the whisper 

of the woods 



73 



THE END OF THE TRAIL 

And the night-birds' dismal hooting in the primal 

solitudes, 
Where the crooning voice of nature chants the 

glory of the West, 
Let the groves of God hold vigil o'er my everlast- 
ing rest. 
Over there beyond the shadows I will find my 

Mary dear, 
And we'll cruise the trails together that we missed 

so sadly here." 
When again I looked upon him death had wrapped 

him in its chill, 
Songs were silenced now forever and the lilting 

lips were still. 



74 



HOMESICK. 

I am tire now of roam', Rosernarie, 

An* long to be at home 'mong de tree, 

Were de Robin redbreas* sing 

In de branches every spring, 

An' de bes* of everyting, You wit' me! 

For de independen* man, Rosernarie, 
Farmin' is de bettair plan, seem to me; 
W*ere no boss is stan* an* swear 
Till you feel lak pull you* hair — 
O! ba gosh I want ma fare rat away! 

Yes, if man has got one soul, Rosernarie, 
Don* it mak* him hot lak ol* Mont Pelee! 
To be order* ro'nd his work 
Lak some lezzy dog-gone Turk — 
By a boss call Barney Burke, O sacre! 

©, I long to see my farm, Rosernarie; 

W*ere ol* Nature full of charm wait for me 

W*ere de angel painter deck 

Ev*ry sod an* stone an* stick: 

Ro'nd ma home in ol* Kebec, Rosernarie! 

Yes, I dream abo*t it all, Rosernarie, 

Ev*ry tarn to sleep I fall, night or day: 

I can see dat bock-wheat fiel" 

Dat is soon be turn to meal, 

An* I hear de fat pig squeal, "hot gravie"! 

O, ma heart is on de jomp, Rosernarie, 

For be back among de stomp, You an' me: 

Ma potato in de lot, 

An* ma onion growin' hot, 

An* de sweet pea in de pot, hully gee! 



75 




V»'"« w 



J" 



V/.R.MctfA 



n 



Sergeant-Major Larry. 



SERGEANT MAJOR LARRY 
OF THE GALLANT 58TH 



Jn *96 the author served his Queen for two weeks om 
the plains of Rockland, near Richmond, Que., as orderly 
under the gallant Capt. Peter Gillies, now of Bury, P. Q. 
One of the subordinate officers becoming the butt of hi* 
comrades owing to unpopular tactics the following "Com** 
allye" resulted. The author may add that this "drill** ended 
his military career — he hasn't been orderly since. 



O come all ye loyal volunteers. 

You're ordered for review: 
Keep your eyes on Sergeant Larry 

Of the famous "No. 2". 
He's the model of a soldier, 

And 'tis worth your while to watch 
How he handles the maneuvers 

In his drill among the Scotch. 

Sure his "honors" sought him early, 

He was here but half a week, 
When the call came: "Forward, Larry, 

You're promoted for your cheek: 
Take your stripes and stand for orders 

And reveal to No. 2 
What a mixture of conceit and gall, 

With brass and cheek, can do." 



77 



SERGEANT-MAJOR LARRY 

And the "orders" are "Fall in, my men, 

Look sharp, and don't be late! 
Signed, Sergeant Major Larry, 

Of the gallant 58." 
Come, my boys, you need not grumble, 

You have but to grin and yield, 
For brave Kitchener's "not in it" 

When bold Larry's on the field. 

When we started down from Scotstown 

We were just as big as him, 
But his honors won so quickly 

Made the rest of us look slim. 
O, he swelled in regimentals 

Till he quite outgrew his tent, 
But he'll get the one he asked for 

When old Hogan pays his rent. 

O we are loyal volunteers, 

Our red coats prove us so, 
We are ready, aye, and willing now 

To meet our country's foe. 
Who would not be proud of Canada 

And for her sake to bleed? 
For success would crown our efforts 

If bold Larry took the lead. 



78 



SERGEANT-MAJOR LARRY 



Yes, the sword that dangles by his side's 

A borrowed one, I know 
But it matters not to Larry, 

As it helps to make a show! 
See him strut around the camp ground, 

Like a peacock in the grass! 
And the * 'staff'* will send him higher 

When it needs a boom in brass. 

Such was Larry bold — in peace time — 

He was brave as Lochinvar, 
But he quickly changed his music 

As the bugle called for war; 
When the Highlanders grew wrathy, 

With their hair straight up on end, 
Sergeant Larry dropped at Bury, 

As he wished to see a friend! 

We were left without a leader 

And the riot louder swelled, 
Divers Scotsmen drew their bayonets 

And for blood they madly yelled. 
Ev'ry car was full of soldiers, 

Noisy as salvation drum, 
On the day we left Camp Rockland 

And the troops came shouting home. 



79 



SERGEANT-MAJOR LARRY 

After Larry comes the "Colonel," 

And a valiant man is he, 
Tho* he never led his forces 

From "Atlanta to the sea"; 
Yet, if e'er the country needs him, 

Every clansman will awake, 
From old Hampton down to Weedon 

And from Lingwick to the Lake. 

We will conquer with our music 

If our fighting fails to win, 
Whom bold Larry cannot vanquish 

We will silence with our din; 
Thus we'll proudly march to glory 

And in midst of all the fray 
We'll be cheered by French of Scotstowa 

As he whistles "Cabar Faidth." 

And McLennan with his bagpipe*, 

He's a brass band in himself, 
We will have him with his music 

To conjure the fighting elf. 
There is nothing so inspiring 

As a loyal tune or song, 
To arouse a soldier's spirits 

And to cheer the "boys" along. 



80 



SERGEANT-MAJOR LARRY 

We will have them there from Scotstown, 

From Ben gal and Echo Vale, 
Men imbued with faith and courage, 

Highland traits which never fail; 
And to swell the fighting faction 

We've the twins of Murray's Clan, 
Who can fight their weight in wildcats — 

Not to mention mortal man! 

And we've armies to fall back on, 

Whose supply will never fail, 
Troops which cross the wild Atlantic 

On all ships of steam or sail; 
You will find them throughout Canada, 

Wherever you may roam, 
And the natives call them "home boys'*, 

For they never stop at home. 

Chorus 
Beat the drums and blow the bugle, boys, 

And whoop it all you're worth, 
As a token to the nations 

You are rulers of the earth! 
If you wish to shine as soldiers 

You must all be up to date, 
And uphold the reputation 

Of Battalion 58. 



81 



THE FENIAN RAID 

WHICH 
NEVER WAS MADE 



During the Boer War a number of prominent gentle- 
men addressing a great mass-meeting in New York advised 
the Tammany Tiger to go up and clean out the Canadian 
jungles, intimating that the majority of the French Cana- 
dians were ready to cast off the "British Yoke." 



From de country of de Yankee, 
Where de heagle bird is roost, 
Where de Star and Stripe is worship 
All de way from coast to coast, 
Comes a rumble of de danger 
Dat is threaten us once more, 
W*en de Fenian tak* hadvantage 
Of our trobble wit* de Boer. 

Some crank mans in New York City 
Mak* beeg speech dat soun* lak' joke, 
And he tell us "what a pity 
Canadaw wear British yoke!** 
And dey shout out to de people 
In de clap-trap of de brave: 
"We will send it men and money 
For to liberate de slave!" 



82 



THE FENIAN RAID 

P'raps dey mean all right for Joseph, 
But I t'ink before dey come, 
Dat someboda ought to tole it, 
"Charata begin at home." 
And dey try to move McKinley 
In de favor of Oom Paul — 
Not because dey love de Boer, 
But because dey hate John Bull. 

Now if Joe he know de feeling 
Of d e U. S. at this tarn, 
All de foe of Queen Victoria 
Is de foe of Honcle Sam. 
It is hinsult to ma country 
For dese men to yell and tell 
Dat de Canuck don't is loyal 
To de queen he love so well. 

Tak' de history of ma people, 

From de day of Wolfe-Montcalm, 

An* you'll find it patriotic 

To de backbone jus' de sam\ 

I am sorry for dis fighting, 

As I don't dislak de Boer; 

But ba gosh w'en its mean troub', boys, 

Den I lak' ma country more. 



83 



THE FENIAN RAID 

Hip hoorahl for British soldier, 

Hip hoorah! for British flag! 

And God bless de Canuck forces 

Gone to help uphold de rag! 

Down wit' all disloyal member 

Of de body politik, 

French or Henglish, rich or poor mans, 

By de power let him trek! 

(I'm not onderstan* dis las' word, 

Don't hinvent it in Quebec.) 

Now I read it on de pepper 
Dat J. Tarte is mak' some sneer 
On de patrihotic feeling 
Of de Canuck volunteer; 
So I'll tole ma frien' Sir Wilfrid 
For to check his runnin* mate — 
T'row heem out de sam' lak Jonah, 
Or he'll sink de ship of state! 

Long ago w'en I was babby 
Fenian mak' it one beeg "raid" 
For to capture Canuck country — 
Hole an* young an' man an' maid. 
Up dey come from state of Var-mont, 
Halso from de state of Maine, 
To de state of destitution 
Pretty near to Stanstead Plain! 



84 



THE FENIAN RAID 

Dere dey met two t'ree hole farmer. 
Wit* some sickle in her han\ 
An* she hask hinvading army 
Wat dey want on top her Ian*. 
Dey could mak' no hones* hanswer, 
So de farmer tole 'em "leave," 
An* before you say Jack Robin! 
Dey skedaddle lak de dev' ! 

Yes dis rag-tag bob-tail soldier 
Start across de "line" on run, 
Jus* de sam' lak* Coxey army, 
W*en it march from Washington! 
Nodder tarn two t*ree more Fenian 
Come aroun* ma home to tak* 
Wen ma f adder an* ma grandpa 
Was off fish upon de lak*. 

Noboda aroun' but womans 
Wen de Fenian come dat day, 
An' ma gran' ma wit* de pitchfork 
T'rowim over fence lak hay! 
No, I don't want Fenian, t*ank you, 
For to lif de British yoke, 
I can wear it leetle longer 
On ma farm at Centre Stoke. 



85 



THE FENIAN RAID 

So, if stranger cross de border 
For hinvasion of dis* Ian', 
We will meet it in good order 
Wit* strong weapon in de han\ 
Yes, let Finnigan de Fenian 
Cross de "line" to hole Quebec, 
An* lak chicken of de story 
She'll get somet'ing in de neck. 

We will grab it by de collar, 
And some place dat's near de seat, 
An' dere rags will mak* a flutter 
In de gutter of de street; 
An* ba Christmas she will fin* me 
Wit* ma shoulder to de "yoke," 
Waiting for dat rag-tag army 
Of hinvasion — watch ma smoke! 



86 



A LEAP-YEAR BALL AT LINGWICK 



The night before last Hallowe'en 

Tho' wet as any ever seen, 

Must henceforth mark a date supreme 

In Lingwick's social lore. 

As on that eve the ladies all 

Came forth to give their leap-year ball- 

And long ere ten the dancing hall 

Was crowded to the door. 

Since Scottish heroes sang duans 
Upon the field of Prestonpans, 
So fine a gathering of the clans 
Was surely never seen. 
And brilliant Byron's * 'ladies fair" 
Who danced in Belgium's balmy air 
Could never with our girls compare 
In beauty's realm, I ween. 

Were I a Burns I'd sing their praise 
In grateful sympathetic lays, 
And tell them how a bard repays 
The smiles on him bestowed. 
O! for a pure poetic drift, 
Or bard McRitchie's splendid gift, 
To give those charming girls a lift 
On chummy Hymen's road. 



87 



LEAP YEAR BALL AT LANGWICK 

Since first the red man trod those lands, 

In happy, reckless, roving bands, 

Where now the town of Lingwick stands, 

Until the present time. 

No festal scene deserved such note, 

Of such a scene no poet wrote, 

Tho' painted with a double coat 

Of stirring prose or rhyme. 

The lively Galson girls were there, 

With dancing eyes and wavy hair, 

And roses stamped by caller air 

On every blooming cheek. 

And other ladies, fair and bright, 

Who live near by, were there that night, 

Contributing the keen delight 

Of beauty, so to speak. 

Oh bachelors, how sweet to glide 

With such bright charmers by one's side! 

And ev'ry heart a surging tide 

Of leap-year sentiment! 

You might perambulate around 

Until you'd hear the trumpet sound — 

No better quarters could be found 

To pitch your earthly tent. 



88 



LEAP YEAR BALL AT LANGWICK 

At 12 o'clock the ladies came 

And took each blushing(?) humbled swain 

Across the road, where Eddie's dame 

Had placed a royal feast. 

Each charmer paid (alas how rare!) 

Her own and hungry fellow's fare, 

And splendid food was furnished there 

For o'er an hour at least. 

We must congratulate each belle 
From mountain, vale and Fisher Hill, 
Who paid her leap-year tax so well 
Last Friday night at Gould. 
Had we our wish we'd gladly call 
Twice yearly for a leap-year ball, 
For surely we were happy all 
The while the women ruled. 

And we beseech you throw your charms 
Around the lonely mountain farms, 
Where bachelors are up in arms 
Against your luring spell. 
Fan to a flame the sluggish smoke, 
Place Gibourd in a double yoke, 
And give friend Finlay Ian a poke 
To keep him hale and well. 



89 



LEAP YEAR BALL AT LANGWICK 



Dear girls, keep up your enterprise 
And dazzle all those "bacheY* eyes, 
Before the present leap-year dies 
And robs you of your rights. 
Take pity on the lonely men 
From "Midnight" to big corner "Ken,** 
Or later on "it might have been** 
Will rob your sleep o* nights. 

The *legibles we*ll briefly scan: 
There's Merchant Donald B. Buchan, 
Who is a dear, good-natured man, 
And not too old to mend; 
And Layfield, too, by George! you bet, 
A closer friend it*s hard to get — 
Besiege their hearts, they're both to let, 
And bliss will rule the end. 

And finally O'Norman "Hoe**, 
Can Cupids dart e*er conquer you, 
And penetrate your bosom through 
To kindle there a flame? 
Shall living mortal ever see 
A bouncing baby on your knee 
Whose lisping tones will add with glee 
"Papa** unto your name 



90 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 

Or 

THE HOLLERIN' HOHENZOLLERIN 



Dear Gott! der weight of "right divine" 

Iss on rny shoulters heavy yet; 
Und worries grow for me und mine 

For fear our thrones should be upset. 

Democracy disturbs my dreams 

Und leaves Thy Villiam veak und vorn; 

Der worldt iss upsite down, it seems, 
Since Chermany was made to mourn. 

Ve deemed der throne of "Nick" secure 

From Gottless hordes who scheme and scoff; 

But foes of mineund Thine, impure, 
Rebelled und bowled der Romanoff! 

Und also Greece went on der skids, 

For Constantine, my Constantine! 
Und other kinks may lose their lids 

Till all are gone safe mine und Thine! 

If von by von ve lose our crown 

My schemes on earth vill be upset; 

Und Gott! if Ireland turns us down 
Ve're in der soup alretty yet! 



91 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 

Der Yankees, too, are now in France, 

To aid der hateful Philistine, 
Und swear they'll make der Kaiser dance 

Der Turkey trot across der Rhine! 

(Aside) 
Yes, I vill dance und I vill trot, 

Der Shottiss und der minuet, 
But, by der power of "Me und Gott'* 

U. Sam vill pay der piper yet! 

Gott, I've been faithful to my trust 

Since Thou dids't place me on der throne; 

My sword wass neffer known to rust 
Vile it coult yet extract a groan. 

Wheneffer yet I drew dot sword 

To make der helpless victim bleed, 

I alvays called upon der Lort 

To guide my arm und bless der deed! 

I sink der ships on all der seas, 
My submarines are on der chob! 

Despairing cries invade der breeze 
Und music's in der dying sob! 

I rain der pombs from oudt der sky, 
On schools and hospitals below; 
Der vimmen und der chiltren die — 
For thus do ve reduce der foe! 

92 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 

Lort help me mit my war to prove 
To all der swine as they shoult know, 

Thou are der ruler up above 
Und I am ruler down below! 

I am der Moses as of oldt, 

I smite der heathen hip and thigh — 
Lort send me Aaron yet to holdt 

Thy fainting servant's handts on highl 

On Gideon still holdt der sun — 

Thou dids't for "Josh" in years agone; 

Und let der melancholy moon 
Still flood der vale of Ajalon! 

(Aside) 
O Chermany! dear Chermany! 

Der Lort of Hosts vill see you through! 
Ve are der chosen people ve, 

Und not der Scotch or cunning Jew! 

Vonce, Lort, Thou knowest ve vere chums, 
Und everything did come my vay; 

But now Thou'rt turning down der thumbs, 
No matter how so loudt I bray! 

Remember, Chermany* s Thy friendt; 

Upholdt it, Lort, for our dear sake; 
Der line of Hintenburg is bent — 

O help us, Gott, before it break! 

93 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 

I'm trusting in Thine aid divine, 

Und bray und fight mit shot and shell, 

But Himmel fails to hold der line 
Against Canucks dot fight like hell! 

I bray at morning, bray at night, 
Und bray at noon ven it is hot; 

But Gott is keeping oudt of sight — 
He answers not, He answers not! 

O! can it be, as scoffers say, 

Der race iss for der von who runs? 

Und dot no matter how ve bray 
Der Lort is mit der biggest guns? 

If so it be, then all iss lost; 

Farewell, farewell, dear Chermany! 
Lloyd Chorge can figure up der cost 

And charge it all to Gott und me! 



94 



HOW WE SETTLED THE ALASKAN 
BOUNDARY QUESTION 

These lines were penned long before the breaking out 
of the present great war. Note the remarkable spirit of 
prophesy which pervaded the poem, especially its allusion 
to the Armenians. 

Now that little Venezuela 

Has her navy back in tow, 
With the "allies" in the distance 

Waiting for the promised "dough", 
It may not be deemed improper 

For the mind that loves to roarn, 
Just to focus its attention 

On some matters nearer home. 

We are also growing weary 

Of the "war clouds in the East", 
Which bob up to entertain us 

Once or twice a year at least. 
And we'd bear the "bobbing" better 

If it did not always bring 
To the "concert of the Powers" 

An unfailing chance to sing. 

They are masterful musicians 

With chin music as their forte, 
And a penchant strong for love songs 

When they serenade the Porte! 
While they sing the Sultan dances 

Like a strolling Dago's bear, 
Till one really feels the presence 

Of roast Turkey in the air! 



95 



ALASKA YUKON BOUNDARY 

Thus they exorcise the spirit 

Of destruction in the Turk, 
And adjure the imp to vamoose 

And forego its bloody work. 
Doth he vamoose? Yes, a season, 

To return with "seven more," 
While the Sultan's still insultin' 

And his fingers still in gore. 

But we'll leave this doubtful concert 

And its harem-scarem tones, 
Meant to drown the voice appealing 

In the dying Christian's groans; 
And examine rather closer 

Into troubles of our own. 
To uproot the crops of mischief 

Which old Satan may have sown. 

People must with friendly feelings, 

And the best intentions, try 
To elucidate the muddle 

Termed "Alaskan boundary.** 
There's a rumble in that region, 

And it shouldn't louder grow — 
Just a little cloud of worry 

*Mid the flurry of the snow. 



96 



ALASKA YUKON BOUNDARY 

Why, oh why, should kindred people 

Quarrel over hunks of ice? 
If they knew each other better 

They would settle in a trice. 
But Miss Canada is frigid 

And Columbia is cold, 
So in presence of the couple 

There's an iciness untold. 

Harken to the one bemoaning 

Up among the northern lights, 
How that 'tother is a * 'squatter" 

And encroaching on her rights. 
"It is mine by deed and title, 

For as everybody knows — 
Not to mention Rudyard Kipling— 

I am 'Lady of the Snows'. 

"See my cousin, Hail Columbia, 

Who has settled thereabout, 
She will soon take Root and Lodge there 

If I do not Turner * out. 
When I asked her 'please to vacate*, 

Can you guess the jade's response? 
Why, she sweetly smiled and answered, 

'After you, my dear Alphonse'I" 



Root, Lodge and Turner, the three American arbitrator* 

97 



ALASKA YUKON BOUNDARY 

Thus the question rests at present, 

Till the arbitrators meet; 
And we trust when said time cometh 

They will gravely take their seat 
Near the base of all the trouble, 

On the apex of the Pole, 
Where they'll exercise the virtue 

At the least of keeping cool I 

Furl your "colors,** then, ye fair ones, 

In a truce of amity, 
Till this august body settles 

Where the "boundary" should be; 
We've emerged from clouds of discord 

And should never more go back 
Whether Skagway's 'neath Old Glory 

Or beneath the Union Jack! 



98 



DE GUARDS OF LAFAYETTE 

Ma Rosie say to me today, 
"You mus* prepare, oF man, 
For to join de Allied army 
In de ranks of Honcle Sam. 
De worl' is full commotion 
Since explosion of de Hun, 
An* de dev's to pay for Belgium 
An* "position in de sun". 

I say, "all rat, oF woman, 
Let de summon come today, 
An' you'll fin' oF Joseph ready 
For to arm an' march away! 
I'm as good for carry knapsack 
An' to shoulder up ma gun 
As I was in Reil rebellion 
On de far Saskatchewan." 

De home of ma adoption 

Is as good a place for me 

As across de line in Canadaw, 

Ma native counteree. 

Ma work, ma home, ma frien's, are hen 

In fac', de whol' dem set! 

So w'at can I do but join wit you 

In de Guards of Lafayette! 



99 



DE GUARD OF LAFAYETTE 

I don't care me for nobodda 

But stan* up for w'at's right, 

An' if Honcle Sam he geeve de word 

An* say we got to fight: 

Good-bye ma work on Amoskeag, 

I leave it quick you bet, 

An* join de boy wit' utmos* joy 

On de Guards of Lafayette! 

So don't mak* fuss abo't dis cuss, 

An' don' be tak* it hard 

If I, ol' Joe, go soon to show 

Ma colors in de Guard. 

You say I got some babby — 

I mus* stay rat by dem? Nit! 

I will march beneat* ol' Glory 

In de Guards of Lafayette! 

O ain't it mak* sensation 

On de streets of Manchestar 

Wen de order come from Honcle Sam 

To march us off to war. 

Nobodda'll know dat dis is Joe 

From dear ol' Nicolet, 

Wen off I march jus* stiff lak starch 

In de Guards of Lafayette! 



100 



DE GUARD OF LAFAYETTE 

Dear Woodrow, would you be so good 

As send us Teddy R., 

To be commander of de chief 

An' leader of de Guar*? 

Dis war, ma friend, is quick to end 

If battle stage is set 

For bol' Ted, on Armageddon 

Leading Guards of Lafayette! 

sure it's be proud day for me 

1 nevair saw before, 

Wen Johnny Bull an* Honcle Sam 
Fight sides by side once more! 
It's mak' one combination 
Dat's tarnation sure to win 
Wen Old Glory joins de Allies 
On dat rough road to Berlin! 

Mos* place I go dey ask me, "Joe, 

Who start dis gol darn war? 

Was it de Sultan-Kaiser, 

Or de Austro Hungry Tsar?" 

I hanswer, "well, it's hard to tell 

Who start dis hell abroad, 

But spite of Hun, de gas an' gun, 

We'll finish it, ba God!" 



101 



DE GUARD OF LAFAYETTE 

Den Rosie, dear, dry up de tear, 
An* cheer up lak ma joy — 
You know de Hun is turn his gun 
On leetle girl an* boy! 
Now dat we mus' join in de fuss 
And Honcle Sam say, "Get!" 
Jus' wish us well an' shout lak hell 
For de Guards of Lafayette! 



102 



THE LUMBERJACK 

We have songs on many topics, 
New and old, beneath the sun, 

But, alas, in many cases, 
Minstrelsy is overdone; 

So 1*11 sing a song of labor — 

Where the muse is rather slack — 

And my theme shall be of timber 
And the hardy lumberjack. 

Now republican traditions 

Are so grafted in our bones, 

That e'en monarchs of the forest 

Must be tumbled from their thrones. 

And to raze those ancient strongholds 
We have armies of the axe, 

Plucky pioneers of progress, 
Known to all as lumberjacks. 

He may lack the wings of angels 

And the sanctity of saints: 
If a town's in need of painting 

He may furnish all the paints. 

Yet he lapses but a moment 
And again he hies him back 

Close unto the heart of nature, 
Does the lonesome lumberjack. 

There amid his wild surroundings 
And the crooning of the trees, 

He finds balm for mind and body 
Borne on every passing breeze. 
103 



THE LUMBERJACK 

There is something strangely healing 
In the magic of the myrrh, 

In the odor of the cedar 

And the fragrance of the fir! 

Grind your axes, O my heroes, 

Point your peavies, file your saws; 

Let your ropes and chains and cables 
Be examined now for flaws. 

Fire up the iron donkey, 

Till each rivet feels the strain, 

Lumberjack has had his outing 
And returns to camp again! 

There is music in the axe fall 
As it sounds upon the ear; 

There is music in the sawing 

When the dust is flying clear — 

Aye, there's music for the lumberjack 

Magnificent of sound, 
In the crashing of the timber 

As it thunders to the ground. 

He will never lack for music 
While the owl is keeping time 

With the ceaseless serenading 
Of the frog within the slime. 

But the music ever sounding, 
With the sweetest of appeals, 

Is the ding-dong of the iron gong 
That calls him to his meals! 

104 



THE LUMBERJACK 

He's a credit to his calling, 
To his country and his clan: 

There is not a dude among them — 
Every lumberjack's a man. 

And you'll find him ever cheerful, 

In the sunshine or the rain, 
From the camps of B. Columbia 

To the lumber camps of Maine. 

He may show a rough exterior, 
But his heart is warm within — 

Mark him poring o'er that letter, 
Just received from home and kin: 

Tears will gather hot and blinding 
And he cannot hold them back, 

Reading words from distant loved ones 
to their absent lumberjack! 

'Tis, perchance, a loving message 
From a sweetheart far away, 

Or a tender admonition 

From a mother old and gray. 

O, ye lumberjacks, remember, 
That wherever ye may roam, 

There are anxious hearts awaiting 
For an answer "back at home"! 

When the sun in golden glory 
Hath descended in the west, 

They indulge in song and story 
Till they seek their bunks for rest: 
105 



THE LUMBERJACK 

There to dream of scenes of childhood, 
Amid mountain stream or glen, 

Till old Sol in morning splendor 
Calls them to their tasks again. 

Soft and soothing are the voices 
As the shades of evening fall, 

Stealing gently through the forest — 
Brooding calmly over all. 

By yon lake a loon is calling 

And the night bird answers back, 

Keeping vigil o'er the slumbers 
Of the weary lumberjack. 

O, the lumberjack is loyal 
And he'll surely see to it, 
In the grind against the Kaiser 
That each axe will "do its bit"; 

He will spruce up for the allies 
Till ten thousand airplanes hum, 

All to win the war for freedom 
And democracy, by gum! 

Chorus 
Grind your axes, O my heroes, 

Point your peavies, file your saws, 
Let your ropes and chains and- cables 

Be examined now for flaws: 
Fire up the iron donkey 

Till each rivet feels the strain, 
Lumberjack will help the Allies 

Win the war with ship and plane! 
106 



PADDY THE BOOK AGENT 

Air 
LARRY O'GAFF 



The sun rose in splendor one foine summer morn- 
ing 
That marked me first effort at selling a book. 
It's rays with soft beauty the landscape adorning 
Sint thramps to seek bliss in some cool shady nook. 
But no such rethrate the hot moments beguiling 
Afforded relief to poor Pathrick O'Reilly, 
Who canvassed that day epidermis parboiling 
In air that would stifle a Florida cook. 

I ambled along wid me pack on me shoulder, 
And prayed for a cloud to o'ershadow me path: 
Says I to meself, if it doesn't grow cowlder 
Poor Pat you'll be afther sure milting to death. 
I entered a town an* the first house I came to 
Looked much loike O' Grady's, I intered the same 

to, 
And called for the misthress, though troth half 

ashamed to, 
An* sat for a moment to catch at me breath. 



107 



PADDY, THE BOOK AGENT 

Be the council o' Cork I was not long awaiting, 
The misthress appeared, looking black as a rook. 
"The devil ye are wid yer impertince satin, 
Verself in me kitchen,'* she said wid a look. 
Says I, "How is your rheumatiz, Mrs. O' Grady?" 
And then quite politely I asked, "Can ye rade ye 
Ould hathen, if not be rne troth ye are nady; 
Ye want to be afther sure buyin* a book." 

She looked quite intint at aich bould handsome 

fature, 
And warm as it was, I could see that she shook. 
"0*11 tache ye a lesson,** she scramed, "Ye vile 

crature, 
Ye cross twixt an ape an* a Bowery street crook I" 
She jumped at me troat thin an* would you belave 

me, 
As quick as a wink through the dure did she have 

me, 
And howled as I struck — will her tones ever lave 

me? — 
"The divil fly off wid yerself an' yer book." 

I left a square inch of me cheek at O' Grady's, 
An* limped wid the rest to the house just fornint. 
A winch in the dureway was paling some praties, 
Who watched me approach wid a quizzical squint. 
Says I wid the best of me Chesterfield graces, 
"Good day me fair maid, ain*t it hotter than 
blazes,** 

108 



PADDY, THE BOOK AGENT 

An' coaxingly swate I did ask, "If ye plaze, Miss, 
To ordher a piece av me illigant print!" 

Thank God for his gifts I this colleen was a daisy, 
Who flashed me a glance from her eyes of deep 

blue; 
And smiling so swately said, "Pathrick, go aisy, 
I see ye were born where the blarney stone grew/' 
"O yes, I was born in ould Ireland, God bless ye, 
The compliment sure makes me long to caress ye, 
And now be me troth I am timpted to press ye 
To take all me books an* the book agent too!" 

We published the bans then to tell Oi'm not mind- 
ing, 
Our lips did the printing as ach wint to press — 
The type was O. K. and O. K. was the binding, 
The sthrongest av bonds are two hearts that caress. 
The saints be adored for the joys they were send- 
ing— 
The angels be bless* d on our nuptials attending — 
For nothing can aquel in loife till its ending 
The gift of a mate loike the wan I possess! 



109 




I** CHIfc W%\* 



W.F^McK^y 



I am now one Lumberjack. 



JEAN LABONNE. 

I am now one lumberjack, 

Rosemarie, 
An* I live in tumble shack 

By some tree; 
Twice a year I leave ma lair, 
Wit' the fir spines in ma hair, 
An' win' up at Totem Square, 

Seattlee. 

CHORUS 
O f I'm good wan all aroun*, 

Rosemarie ; 
I'm de bes' man on de Soun' 

Wit' peavie. 
In de sunshine or de wreck 
I am always on de deck, 
Jean Labonne from ol* Kebec — 

Dat is me! 

On de fourt' of each July, 

Rosemarie ; 
An' w'en Chris' mas day come nigh, 

You can see 
Ev'ry lumber son of gun 
On de States of Washington 
Jus' lak Jean Baptiste Labonne, 

On de spree! 



Ill 



JEAN LABONNE 

I am call' de "Skookum Kid," 

Rosemarie ; 
I'm grease lightning on de skid 

Yes siree; 
I can "team" or "tend de hook," 
I can "bark" or "fall" or "buck," 
An* w'en whisky's down de cook 

I'm "cookee!" 

O, you'd lak for tak* one ride, 

Rosemarie ; 
Do'n de steep ol' mo'nta'n side 

Long wit* me; 
Dare is notting lak a jog 
Do'n dat mo'nta'n on a log 
Clinging to an iron dog, 

Hully gee! 

But w'en Skookum leave de rail, 

Rosemarie; 
For an independen* trail 

Thru de tree; 
Den you see somebodda jomp 
Lak de dev* along de dump, 
An* climb up on wan beeg stump, 

Dat is me! 



112 



CANADIANS GUARD YOUR OWN. 

During the Boer War at a time when the British forces 
were suffering severe reverses a certain Quebec paper stated 
that the British Empire was built on "feet of clay" and pre- 
dicted that it would, like its Babylonian prototype, suffer a 
sudden fall. 

We trust it's a long long way to that "fall,** and thank 
God the dear old flag still waves. 

"On feet of clay," false prophets say, 
"On feet of clay, the Empire stands"; 

Great Power which braves tempestuous waves 
For Freedom's cause in many lands. 

Write not again, misguided pen, 

Write not again our "woes" upon. 
Compare us not with that vain sot 

Whose misrule doomed old Babylon. 

Is it because you love their laws, 

Is it because you love the Boer, 
You thus assail with bitter wail 

The flag which waves your country o'er> 

Flag of the brave, long may it wave! 

Flag of the brave still rule the sea! 
While Britain fights for human rights — 

For progress and for liberty. 

113 



CANADIANS, GUARD YOUR OWN 

Reverses may be ours today; 

Reverses may our arms attend: 
But Britain's might — with Britain's right — 

Will surely conquer in the end. 

Unwise Semaine why thus complain? 

Unwise Semaine why idly rave? 
If it be "sin" for us to win 

*Tis sin to liberate the slave I 

Pray cant no more anent the Boer, 
Pray cant no more, 'tis but a ruse 

For venting rage against an age 
Ahead of Semaine Religieuse. 

Our country needs no clashing creeds, 
Our country needs no cliques nor clans. 

United all to stand or fall, 

Let's still be true Canadians! 

A glorious name our children claim, 

A glorious heritage is theirs; 
Then why should we thus disagree, 

And strew their path with racial snares? 

The time is near, the edict's clear, 
The time is near when racial strife 

Will vanish quite before the light 
That ushers in a nobler life. 



114 



CANADIANS, GUARD YOUR OWN 



Your destined lot, deny it not, 

Your destined lot is clear and plain; 

Nor vicious kicks against the pricks 
Can e'er retard the coming reign! 

No bigot's sway shall rule our day; 

No bigot of a bygone age 
Shall ever stand in this free land 

To preach a gospel born of rage. 

Proclaiming peace, let rancor cease; 

Proclaiming peace, let strife be slain. 
Let Saxon trait and Gallic hate 

Be merged in strong Canadian strain I 



115 



GUARD THE GAELIC. 
An Exhortation to the Gael. 



Is it not our bounden right 
To uphold with all our might, 
And with tongue and pen to fight 
For our native Gaelic? 

Guard the language known to Eve, 
Ere the Serpent did deceive — 
And the last one we believe, 
Mellow, matchless Gaelic! 

Pity the disloyal clown 
Who will dwell awhile in Town, 
And returning wear a frown 
If he hears the Gaelic. 

'Tis amusing to behold 
Little misses ten years old, 
When they leave the country fold 
How they lose the Gaelic. 

Some gay natives of the soil, 
Cross "the line*' a little while 
And returning, deem it "style" 
To deny the Gaelic. 

116 



GUARD THE GAELIC 

Lads and lassies in their teens 
Wearing airs of kings and queens — 
Just a taste of Boston beans 
Makes them lose their Gaelic! 

They return with finer clothes, 
Speaking "Yankee" through their nose! 
That's the way the Gaelic goes — 
Pop! goes the Gaelic. 

Tho' the so-called "tony set" 
Teach them quickly to forget, 
They will all be loyal yet 
To their mother Gaelic. 

Then abjure such silly pride 
Cast the ragged thing aside — 
Let your mongrel "English" slide 
Rather than the Gaelic. 

What a dire calamity 
And how lonesome we would be 
If our honored Seannachie, 
Failed to charm in Gaelic! 



117 



GUARD THE GAELIC 



Better far the * 'mother tongue" — 
Language in which mother sung 
Long ago, when we were young — 
Ever tender Gaelic! 

Findlay's ever ready muse, 
Stricken dumb, would soon refuse 
People further to enthuse, 
If he lost his Gaelic! 

And Buchanan, how could he 
Sell his soda or his tea 
On this side of *'Talamh a righ,** 
If he lost his Gaelic? 

Also Merchant Edward Mac 
Would not sell so much tomac 
If his stock was found to lack 
Lusty Lewis Gaelic! 

And Pennoyer, what would you 
At the Gould post office do 
When you'd hear from not a few 
"Ca mar u ha u fean a diubh," 
If you lost your Gaelic? 

118 



GUARD THE GAELIC 

Little Donald with the plaid 
O'er his buirdly shoulder laid, 
Would go dancing in the shade, 
And his glory soon would fade 
If he lost his Gaelic. 

From O'Groat's to lands' end, too, 
What would brother Scotsmen do — • 
All the loyal clansmen who 
But a single language know, 
If they lost their Gaelic? 

What would then become of those 
Poems grand, in rhyme or prose, 
Which in stately measure flows 
From "Beinn Gran's" spotless snows! 
"Chaibar Faidth" — the best that grows— 
"Fhir a baitha" — how he rows I 
What, I ask, would happen those 
If we lost the Gaelic? 

Then uphold the magic tongue 
Which through mystic Eden rung 
When Creation still was young — 
Language in which Adam sung 
To his Eve, Earth's first love song; 
When the morning stars were flung 
Into space, where since they've clung — 
Ancient, Glorious Gaelic! 



119 



THE AMERICAN EAGLE 



Lofty is his habitation, peerless dweller of the 
skies — 

Unafraid of all creation, where his rock-ribbed tur- 
rets rise; 

There's a confidence unbounded hedging 'round his 
solitude 

That should warn marauding mongrels with de- 
signs upon his brood! 

O, the outlook from his aerie is a grand one, it is 

true — 
Matchless beauty in the vistas which unfold before 

his view; 
Might and right and wealth and glory that shall 

never know decline 
Are his attributes to conquer ruthless robbers of the 

Rhine! 



120 



THE AMERICAN EAGLE 

You invaded his dominions, sowing discord on the 

way; 
Your besotted agents plotted to o'erthrow his 

mighty sway: 
Using all the wiles of Willie on pacifist Bob and 

Pat, 
Till some eaglets oversilly scarcely knew where 

they were at. 

He was patient with your pirates since you first be- 
gan to raid 

And usurp his habitation to pursue your hell-born 
trade ; 

He was patient with your plotting till you piled 
the final straws 

Which broke down his toleration — now, ye devils, 

mind his claws! 

-.. -■ 

He looked on in consternation, scarce believing 

what he saw. 
When you sank his ships in anger in defiance of all 

law: 
Killing women and their children with a fiendish- 

ness unknown 
Since the first bloodthirsty monster was misplaced 

upon a throne. 



121 



THE AMERICAN EAGLE 



Now the eagle's wrath is burning, he is eager for 

the fray, 
And the robbers who aroused him long will rue 

the bitter day 
When he sweeps down from his aerie in the fury 

of his fire — 
Sudden death will clutch the vitals of the victims 

of his ire! 

Yea, the eagle's wings are spreading, nobly spread- 
ing to the breeze, 

And their awful sweep shall bear him over land 
and over seas: 

Men and money move in millions where those 
mighty pinions rest, 

And God help misguided minions who have mon- 
keyed with his nest! 

Brave, determined northern neighbor, hold the 

"hills" so dearly won — 
Hold the hills until the Eagle strikes with you to 

crush the Hun! 
Courage! Allies, friends of freedom, in this war 

we're all akin — 
Carry on! Old Glory's with you on the red road 

to Berlin! 



122 



IN MEMORY 

of 
DONALD McLEOD 



Of North Hill, Lingwick, Who Died of Smallpox, at Flagstaff, 
Arizona, on the 2nd day of March, 1882. 



The sun hath set and leaves the day, as when the 

soul hath left its clay, 
The pale soft tints of twilight spread from east to 

west. 
The evening breeze that fans my cheek with mellow 

cadence seems to speak, 
Then sighing onward through the dusk it sinks to 

rest. 

On nights like this my fancy strays, to loved one* 

lost in other days; 
Whom gold had tempted to the sunset land afar; 
Brave boys whose hopes of future wealth were 

blasted by thy power O Death, 
Whose mandates wage on old and young a constant 

war. 
Among the lads so kind and true, who sought the 

land of golden hue, 
To meet amid its glittering hopes an early doom, 
Was Lingwick's strongest, lealest man, the joy and 

pride of all his clan, 
As brave a youth as ever graced a Compton home. 

Dear comrade of my younger days, my muse is weak 
to sing thy praise, 

But love is strong howe'er so feeble be my strain; 

And though you're sleeping cold and still, on Flag- 
staff's distant pine-clad hill, 

Fond memory often flits to thee across the plain. 

123 



DONALD McLEOD 

I loved e'er childhood's days were passed: 1*11 love 

you on until the last; 
E'en when the clouds of death approach I'll think 

of thee; 
Oh, bitter fate! Oh, woeful hour! that cut thee down 

in manhood's power; 
Thrice bitter if death's chains could bind eternally. 

But blessed promise, hopeful friend, that tells us 

death is not the end, 
That brighter prospects loom for all beyond the 

wave. 
Oh, sing aloud the glad refrain, that friend with 

friend will meet again! 
For love like this can ne'er be conquered by the 

grave. 

What though the red men roam at will, from arid 

plain to cooler hill, 
Regardless of the mounds that lie amid the groves: 
What though our children find their graves with 

ghosts of long departed braves, 
The spot is one the God of nature dearly loves. 

In Arizona's distant land, where cyclones drift the 

heated sand, 
And where the tall, magestic pine treej branches 

wave; 
Where gaunt coyotes prowl for prey, through storm 

and calm, by night and day, 
There in their midst there lies a lone, neglected 

grave. 

\ 

124 



DONALD McLEOD 



Were eloquence immortal mine I'd sing of scenes the 

most sublime, 
Of any nature ever lavished here below. 
God's majesty seems here unfurled as elewhere not 

in all the world, — 
An earthly paradise o'erspread by heaven's glow. 

How fitting that thy sun went down, so near the spot 

that wears earth's crown, — 
The Colorado Canyon country, weird and dim; 
No grander land beneath the skies in which to die, 

in which to rise; 
And nature's God will care for all who sleep in Him. 

What though, alas, fond earthly hopes are buried in 

yon western slopes, 
And gentle mothers grieve for loved, ones lying 

there : 
Though maidens sigh with sad unrest, for lovers true 

who died out west; 
The bitter heartache soon will cease and all be fair. 

But Donald's manly voice still rings within our ears, 
and memory clings 

To all the charms that marked his life while still 
below: 

And often now our fancy's flight doth wing its jour- 
ney to that night, 

That marks hisl lonely death amid the mountain 
snow. 



125 



DONALD McLEOD 

The prairie wolves of stealthy tread already seemed 

to scent the dead; 
Their fitful howls were borne upon the midnight air; 
The western world was wrapped in gloom, from 

sandy waste to heaven's dome, 
When Donald closed his weary eyes and passed from 

care. 

The air within the mountain camp was uncongenial, 
cold and dairjp: 

And springtide gales were moaning dismally out- 
side: 

No loving hand was there to press his fevered brow 
with fond caress, 

No gentle voice to whisper comfort when he died. 

Dear Balloch Ban, thou'rt now at rest; thy sun went 

down far in the West. 
Alas I no more to rise, until the Judgment Day; 
No truer heart e'er ceased to beat, no braver soul O 

Death did greet, 
Thy awful presence since the earth hath owned thy 

sway. 

And now he sleeps beneath the sod, where grand 

old mountain pine trees nod 
Their lofty plumes beneath the far-off, distant dome! 
Oh, stranger, should you linger near, drop on this 

lonely grave a tear, 
In memory of the boy that sleeps so far from home. 



126 



OVER THE TOP 

A lusty lad from Lewis, — 

Bright gem from Britain's crown — 
Assailed by Huns with gas and guns 

In "No Man's Land" was down. 

No power on earth can save him, 

*Tis madness, then, to try; 
Still to the deed sprang forth with speed 

A balloch ban from Skye! 

He volunteered to enter 

That zone of certain death. 
And unafraid went forth to aid, 

While thousands held their breath. 

Thru all that hell of fire 

He sped like mountain deer — 

On shell-torn ground his comrade found. 
And bore him to the rear. 

Their comrades gather 'round them 

To do what mortals can: 
But— cruel fate! — they found them 

Beyond the help of man. 



127 



OVER THE TOP 

One whispers, "Da mar ha u?" 
"Gla vadh," the friend replied; 

Then rescuer and rescued 
"Went over" side by side! 

How marred the manly beauty! 

Now torn by shot and shell — 
Ye Huns have done your duty 

And served your master well! 

Poor bleeding, broken bodies 
T[o mother earth consign — 

The spirit of the laddies 
Ye cannot more confine. 

Over the top together — 

Over the great gray host — 

Homing like birds of freedom, 
Back to their rock-bound coast. 

Over the top together! 

Out from the fighting list: 
Home where the purple heather 

Blooms in the Highland mist. 

Sons of mothers returning — 
Souls from the clod set free: 

Back where the home guards, yearning, 
Pray that their eyes might see — 



128 



OVER THE TOP 

See through the veil between them, 
Though but a brief, brief glance, 

Into the eyes of loved ones, 
Dead on the fields of France! 

Home where the curlew's calling 
Notes that are wild and free I 

Home, where the mist is falling 
Into a storm-tossed sea. 

Parents of brave, dead soldiers, 
Dear sisters, sweethearts, wives, 

Is there no balm in Gilead 
For all the dear lost lives? 

Yes, there's a balm in knowing 
They died for you and me: 

Their precious blood bestowing, 
The price of liberty! 

Dear lusty lad from Lewis: 

Brave blue-eyed boy from Skye: 

In this great war you show us 
How bravely men can die! 



129 



THE ALKILI LAND 

or 
A-ROAMING I WOULD GO. 



I left my old home and my friends in the East, 
Ambitious to better my fortunes, forsooth; 
And seek amid scenes of the strenuous West, 
The gold which had gilded the dreams of my youth. 

But gold not alone, was the dochus mo chree 
Which painted that faraway country so fair; 
A lure more compelling was beckoning me — 
The maiden I loved since my childhood was there! 

I did what a man without money must do, 

Just walked when the "brakies" were looking too 

sharp. 
I sang when I felt in the humor, 'tis true — 
When lonesome, like David I hung up my harp I 

I envied the lot of the fellow inside, 
Who traveled in comfort asleep or awake; 
While I, of all comfort and slumber denied, 
Was beating my way on the beam of a brake! 



130 



THE ALKALI LAND 

Thus onward I journeyed by night and by day, 
Combating the problems of food and of rest — 
Content as I traveled the wearisome way 
To know I was nearing the wonderful West. 

My pilgrimage, first uneventful and slow, 
Changed color as Texas* vast reaches I struck. 
Arizona the arid, and New Mexico — 
Half hell and half heaven, were also my luck. 

When tortured and weak by the heat of the sand, 
And swollen my tongue and the water was done, 
I wondered no more as I passed through the land 
At the myriad bones bleaching white in the sun. 

Yes, on as I plodded the limitless range, 

In that land of hot sand and eternal clear skies, 

How oft in my thirst did I long for a change 

To my own native hills, where the watersprings 

rise! 
O Compton beloved! what visions arose, 
Of thy hills and dark vales and thy cold mountain 

streams ! 
And each fountain-like fuadhran* which bubbles 

and flows, 
On the farm back at home in the land of my 

dreams I 

*Water spring. 

131 



THE ALKALI LAND 

Some tell me the beauty of Nature, abroad, 
Surpasses in grandeur the country we boast — 
They'd alter their views if they traversed the road 
I wearily tramped on my way to the "Coast". 

There may be a spot in some faraway clime 
Where Nature in robes of perfection is dressed; 
But give me her moods and her image sublime 
As seen in the wild, woolly wastes of the West! 

I slept with the red men who roam through that 

land — 
Gaunt remnant that tells of the white man's abuse; 
And often, although I could not understand, 
Was I lulled by the soft clucking language they use. 

We never took thought on occasions like these 
Of the dangers which lurked as we lay on the 
ground — 

Though the howl of coyote was borne past on the 

breeze, 
And the rattlesnake coiled with an ominous sound! 

Asleep 'neath the stars of that beautiful clime, 
In the shadowy gloom that same mesa had cast, 
Undisturbed in my slumbers, I'd dream of the time 
When the long dreary miles still ahead would be 
passed. 



132 



THE ALKALI LAND 

Mysterious mesas! how ghostly ye loom! 
How spectral and huge o'er the alkali waste; 
The secrets of ages thy vastness entomb, 
Are seemingly safe in thy mystical breast! 

When shadows of even* crept over the land, 
And mountains around me grew ghostly and grey, 
The fringe of the foothills I anxiously scanned 
For lithe, tawny forms ever prowling for prey. 

Oft during my journey I fancied that rain 
Fell cool from a cloud on my thirst-swollen lips; 
Yet cloudless the sky o'er that quivering plain — 
'Twas the last ray of hope undergoing eclipse! 

At times would the lure of this mirage prevail, 
Till, reason returning, I'd hasten me back; 
For I knew the safe trail was to follow the rail 
Gleaming hot in the sun on the Santa Fe track! 

The phantoms of fever thus beckoned in vain, 
Where better and stronger than I had been lost; 
Though the hell of Mohave was scorching my 

brain, 
I crossed it in safety and struck for the Coast. 



133 



THE ALKALI LAND 

boundless Pacific! I deem it no loss 

To flee to thy arms from the cactus and sand; 
How sweet on thy deep, heaving bosom to toss 
After parching so long in the alkali land! 

1 boarded a schooner that slopped in the bay — 
A tub of a ship for Seattle outbound — 

And up from old Frisco we wallowed our way 
To lovely Seattle, the Queen of the Sound. 

And there on a hill, in a beautiful spot, 
Overlooking Lake Union's low murmuring wave, 
The love of my youth, whom so long I had sought, 
Alone among strangers I found — in her grave! 



134 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM. 



On Christmas night I sallied forth, 
To the Red Mountain in the north; 
The bright abode of men of worth 
'Twixt here and heaven; 
Where Finlay's stakes in mother earth 
Are firmly driven. 

I ambled up the village road, 
Past many an Irishman's abode, 
And carried quite a heavy load — 
The most inside; 

I faith sincerely thanked the code 
The way was wide. 

Here conscience loudly whispered, "Dhu, 

How oft hath it been told to you, 

The end that way would lead you to 

Should you persist — 

With soldiers of the ribbon blue 

At once enlist." 

I answered conscience, "give me peace, 

The time of pledges draws apace, 

When we must swear to shun the glass 

And all its riot; 

We've but a single week of grace 

So let's enjoy it." 



135 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

I followed up by Keenan's gate 

Unto the "turn" where two ways meet, 

Thence to the left the mountain street 

Would guide me right, 

Tho' for my life I could not see't, 

Just in that light. 

For where two highways ran before, 
I saw a dozen tracks or more; 
And which to take, I wasn't sure, 
By either eye; 

'Twas but a chance against a score, 
And yet I'd try. 

I started on with divers tacks, 

And strove to reconcile the tracks 

Which darted round, like jumping jacks, 

Before my gaze; 

'Twould take a dozen crowd a cacks 

Tlieir course to trace. 

Had I big John's and Eddie's charts, 
To tell me where the highway parts, 
Reducing by their magic arts 
Nineteen to two; 

I would have from my heart of hearts 
Poured blessings due. 



136 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

Confusion worse confounded, gee! 
On every track a horse I see, 
And all alike it seems to me 
As barley scones — 
I vow, Pete Gagne's cavalry — 
Proud, prancing roans! 

Their bones were rattling in the cold 
Like vales of which Ezekiel told! 
A few indeed did seem too old 
To nibble corn; 

The colt among them all was foaled 
Ere "Smoke" was born. 

Ah! crippled, gaunt and wild-eyed steed, 
Thy woes are great, your want is feed! 
Reminds me of D. Bunker's breed 
That gasps for breath; 
Aye, one and all are built for speed — 
To certain death! 

I asked the leader of the band, 

If he could tell, upon which hand, 

The mountain turnpike pierced the land 

Around those parts; 

I'd shipped a sea, I told him, and 

Had lost my charts. 



137 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

"The left!" he answered with a yell; 

"Tis easy, sir, your course to tell; 

And that will lead you down to — well, 

To "Robert's road." 

Then straight away on yonder hill 

Is "Smoke's" abode. 

The right hand road you must not take, 

As that will lead to Moffat Lake, 

Where Cookshire sportsmen saw "big snake" 

Through Alden's glass. 

And thots of serpents make me quake 

From head to cass." 

I gave my guide a social wink, 

And started on, is cha ro blink, 

Till my exuberance, I think, 

Broke into song: 

I said "good evening" to the "Mink," 

And passed along. 

The air was keen, the night was bright, 

And in the north that mystic light, 

(In my exaggerated sight) 

Was one to please; 

The whole suggested yellow, white 

Or greenish cheese! 



138 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

I gained momentum down the ridge, 

And jumped John Moggish's hump-backed bridge; 

Then climbed the mountain, hedge by hedge, 

Unto the crest. 

And thought it there my privilege 

To take a rest. 

I could not find the mountain store 
Which Channel mentioned in his leor, 
My vision's better than before, 
I really think: 

Aye, C accounts for one or more — 

And he don't drink. 

But stores aside, I wandered on 

To where the school house windows shone, 

Altho' there seemed to me but one — 

A dancing glare: 

I thought the northern lights were on 

The programme there. 

And just within, O "hully gee!" 

Is that a single Christmas tree, 

Or is my vision still aglee? 

For lack of breath — 

A moving forest do I see 

As saw Macbeth? 



139 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

And better still the forest gleams 
With all a youngster most esteems: 
A greater crop, as groaning beams 
Did there attest 

Than Tupper saw in wildest dreams 
Of wheat out West. 

And bachelors (might they be fewer) I 
I thought I'd see you single, sure. 
But there they sit, at least a score, 
On benches stuck; 
Each one a wilted, lone wall flower 
Awaiting pluck. 

We pray you, O assultin Turk, 

So noted for unholy work, 

To send his devilship your clerk 

Across the seas: 

To drive our single men to kirk 

With marriage fees. 

Or send Armenians not yet dead 

And take our bachelors instead; 

Should you then hanker for their head 

Just plant their hide: 

And thus avoid that hellish dread 

Infanticide! 



140 




Another Finlay like your own, you 11 never know. 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

Behold! I've reason now to stare! 

For are there not two Finlays there — 

And only one on earth I swear — 

Come off my hat! 

A worthier to fill a chair 

Has never sat. 

Red Mountain, thy neglect condone — 

Within that "chair" your bard enthrone 

Instead of bread, don't give a stone 

As others do — 

Another Finlay like your own 

You'll never know. 

Sweet singer! may your mother tongue, 
Embellished by thy gift of song, 
Be ever heard the clans among 
While print is read — 
May future bards thy notes prolong 
When thou art dead. 

Thus on and on, while cycles roll, 

May Gaelic — language of the soul — 

Be heard in song from pole to pole, 

From east to west, 

Until the final tempests bowl 
This earth to rest! 



143 



A CHRISTMAS DREAM 

Concluding — I would humbly ask 
All hypocrites to shun the task 
Of shooting from behind a mask 
Their fellow men — 
And help us all to fling our flask 
To Hinnom's glen! 

We've heard the loud, despairing moan 
Of sinners, reaping what they've sown, 
In midnight fields with thistles grown 
Where devils glean. 
Yet let the first to cast a stone 
Himself be clean. 

No living mortal can invite 

The gaze of creatures who delight 

In showing spots upon the white 

Which God hath gf en. 

Alas, alas, a little spite 

Will find the stain. 

But who's to judge? The serpent's there, 
In every breast that breathes the air, 
Though some with skill and acting rare 
His form conceal; 

While others full to view must wear 
The squirming eel! 



144 



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